


I See You

by fangirlsupreme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Blindness, Boys Kissing, Dark Dean Winchester, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Forgot about that tag, It is admittedly unsatisfying though, It's like the real Supernatural, M/M, Minor Character Death, Physical Abuse, There is literally nothing happy here, There's a mostly happy ending, This is such a dark story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 05:04:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 72,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlsupreme/pseuds/fangirlsupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel, blind freshman, meets Dean, outcast with a troubled past. While one wrestles with harassment and a wish for more freedom, the other struggles with inner demons and the mess that his life has become. However, one thing they both know is that they want each other and somehow they'll be together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I See You

**Author's Note:**

> This is a roleplay that started on omegle and then was transferred to email and then just became this humongous thing. Like this huge, dark, horribly wonderful thing. I mean, we sent like pages of responses to each other. Like this thing is huge. It's the biggest story I've ever been a part of. The rating is purely for the drugs, language, and physical abuse. THERE IS NO SEXY TIME. It was just never the right time and then the ending wrote itself, so yeah. No sexy time. I wrote everything to do with Castiel, and my partner wrote everything that had to do with Dean. I'd like to think that those who have read my stories before will recognize my mediocre writing style. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it my lovelies! More notes at the end.

Castiel was on his way to gym class when felt his dark tinted glasses get ripped off his face for the third time that week. He had been born blind but he’d never felt bad about it. Not until high school. His brothers didn’t have enough money to send him to a school specifically for blind students, so Castiel had to go to the local public high school, which luckily had a rather good special needs program. His first days had been hell. People had made fun of his cane and the way he walked, but mostly it was his eyes. Everyone kept teasing him about how creepy his stare was so finally, he’d invested in glasses specifically made so that his blindness would be less offensive to others. However, now his peers choose to instead steal them and hide them in places that Castiel could never get to on his own. He usually had to wait for a teacher to stumble across them before he got them back. Sighing, Castiel walked slowly, twenty steps to the left and then three to the right until he was against the wall at the end of the hallway where he knew someone was least likely to trip over him. He let his head bang back against it, sliding down until he was sitting. He pulled his knees up to his chest, burying his head in them as he wished for the hundredth time that week that he was normal.

The freshman meat was average this year—nothing impressive either way. The guys on the sports teams had no good recruits, nor good material for jests and japes. Well, there was one… Dean was a junior, a sixteen-year-old stick with bowlegs. He had no idea who the blind kid was, seeing as they never had classes together. However, a boy like that stuck out in a school full of normies. Even the special education kids were really just white trash premies who were biding their time until they dropped out. This kid, who tapped his way around the school halls and fingered his books gracefully (though he would readily deny if asked, he happened to find himself stunned and staring at this boy more often than not), was like nothing he had ever been exposed to. Even Sam had become curious about the blind freshman when his brother had come home in September talking about it.

But, he had been to shy to ever approach him. The closest they had ever come to contact was in the hallways, where Dean would walk directly behind or beside the boy, with a hunger so deep he could taste it. The boy was silent, with violently beautiful blue eyes that—well; it was difficult to believe that they were unseeing. Yet, no matter how close Dean came to brushing against him, or breathing on him, the mystery kid never flinched. 

“Dude, stop.” Garth was on him now, which caused him to fall back, losing the myriad in the crowd of assholes and geeks. “You’re being creepier than he is!”

“He’s not creepy, he’s—“ Suddenly there was a clatter of plastic on the floor, and a peal of laughter went up into the air. “Dammit,” he growled. The bell rang shortly after. Garth hit him on the arm and trotted into a nearby room. Dean didn’t even have his books on him. He’d given up on class months ago. All he cared about now was getting a job and getting his brother away from home. Until he saw a mousey mop of hair and hands covering a face he yearned to look upon.

He sat down beside the boy on the linoleum floor. Whatever charm he had—the girls that fawned over him said he had a ton, though he hated himself more than he hated them—disappeared as he awkwardly said, “You’re late for class,” in a too-loud voice.

Castiel jumped slightly, turning towards the source of the voice instinctively. He’d heard this boy in the hallway with his friends before. He was definitely an upperclassman, his voice deeper than the still-developing freshmen. It was low and smooth, an underlying rumble that would just get deeper as the boy got older. It had only taken one time for Castiel to fall in love with that voice. It brought him a strange sense of calm that he reveled in during the day and had taken to finding out everything he could about that voice. “I know,” Castiel responded softly, a little nervous about finally talking to the source or the voice, but determined not to seem like he already knew him, “I just lost my glasses.” He didn’t want to make a big deal out of the fact that they’d been taken. It was easier for Castiel to stay quiet. Complaining wouldn’t change his classmates.

“You didn’t lose them,” Dean scoffed. “I saw the buzz-cut kick-head who took ‘em, and fully intend to fuck him up in a minute. Just wanted to make sure you were okay first.”

Did he sound like a pansy because he spoke in honesty? Would the boy resent that someone wanted to help or care for him? Maybe it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he would ever talk to the kid again. They were two years and worlds apart. Dean’s circle of friends was more like a toxic net, smothering him as time went on. Even if he and the blind one became acquaintances, the elder could never be his friend. He was well aware that contact with him was corruption, that to befriend this boy would be to snap a ball and chain around his ankle. Still…

He waited with bated breath for a response, watching the flat chest fall and rise. His elegant fingers rest upon his knees, his hair a rumpled mess and those eyes… Cyanic, set within his milk-white skin. The cheekbones were high and only accented them. Dean traced his features with greedy green eyes, a princess pout on his face. Times like these he thanked whatever fucked up god there was that he couldn’t be seen. His eyes were red-rimmed, but covered in smudged black liner. His clothing was torn and frayed, naturally, a mixture of plaids and blacks and random shoots of color. Doc Marten’s that he bought from a thrift store, a few sizes too big for him, but they were the most his father had ever deigned to buy him. Someday, he’d save enough at the Singer’s Salvage Yard to buy himself new clothing, but not now. Sam needed more.

From his jacket pocket, he produced the set of glasses. “Here,” he said harshly, poking those prominent knuckles with the glasses. If only he felt bold enough to reach for his hand, place the glasses on the palm and close the fingers around them…

Castiel’s face flushed at the boy’s words, touched that someone would have, at the very least, enough concern for him to say something like that. His voice resonated deep within Castiel and he hoarded the sound, committing it to memory. He felt a little weird, feeling these things about someone he couldn’t even see. He ducked his head in embarrassment, though there was no way the other boy could hear his thoughts. “You don’t have to do something like that,” Castiel, said, his voice soft spoken, “I’d hate for someone to get in trouble because of me.” He felt his glasses tap against his hand and reached out, brushing the warm skin of the other boy’s wrist as he did. He closed his fingers tightly around the glasses, quickly sliding them on his face to hide his eyes. “Thank you for returning them to me.”

“Please,” he laughed. “I’m always in trouble.” A hall monitor passed by the adjacent hall. It was some lady who sounded like she smoked a pack a day; each hall monitor knew Dean by name, but today this one chose to remain silent. She eyed the glasses, the blind boy, and gave Dean a curt nod before passing on. Lucky, because he wanted a few more moments with this precious young nymph.

Okay, nymph wasn’t quite the word—but there was something otherworldly about him. Like he was a character from the books Dean had read to Sam before the boy could read well himself. Every movement sent waves through the air, nearly clipping Dean’s heart in two. He watched the boy push the glasses onto his face and immediately snapped, “Why do you do that? Wear those stupid glasses?”

Castiel was caught off guard, Dean’s voice suddenly taking on an angry edge. He flinched away instinctively, never liking when people were angry around him. Castiel turned his face away, not wanting to anger the boy further. “Many people have told me that my stare is unsettling,” he explained quietly, “To make others more comfortable, I conceal my eyes.” He knew it sounded strange to others but Castiel always felt better when others around him were happy.

“The fuck do you care if other people are happy? These assholes are messing with you, not only cause they think you’re creepy, but cause they think you’re too… I dunno… weak to care!” The anger in his voice was brought on by referencing the jocks and bold rich kids who dared to tease the freshman. Making fun of people who were different somehow made them feel more confident, more at home.

“I’m just sayin'… your stare ain’t unsettling, not even close. Not gonna lie, I thought about not givin' you those glasses back, just so I could see 'em a little bit.” He neglected to mention how he would edge as close as possible to him in the hallway, sometimes taking a protective stance, as if committing to an unspoken vow: I’ll be right here to protect you in case something goes wrong. On this day, it did.

Castiel was frozen, unsure what to do with the other boy’s bold stance towards the way he was treated. As understanding as his family was, Castiel never quite got this level of anger on his behalf at home. “It makes no difference to me what they think,” Castiel said, keeping his voice quiet in order to prevent the boy from getting even angrier, “I don’t know anything about what I look like, so hiding a part of me doesn’t really matter.” Castiel blushed now, remembering the next thing the boy had said. “Thank you for saying something so kind to me,” he said, voice shy, “But my appearance isn’t something I’ve ever had to worry about.”

The thought struck Dean as so odd, he couldn’t respond. At least not to that. His boots scuffed the floor and he grabbed the shabby knapsack he carried around, hauled it over his shoulder as he stood. “I’ve gotta go now… See you around, uh… What’s your name?” The ways in which he hated himself were nauseating.

Castiel heard the boy stand, turning his head towards the noise of shuffling fabric. He used the wall behind him to stand up as well, figuring he should make his way to class. He waited until he was steady to unfold his cane in front of him. He turned towards where he last heard the boy speak. “My name is Castiel,” he answered, a shy smile on his face, “What’s the name of my knight in shining armor?”

Watching the boy stand was torture. Every inch of skin itched to reach out and cradle his elbow to help him find his feet. Though, that would be too much. Right? They didn’t know each other; Dean was a bad kid, this boy seemed innocent enough. Judging by the way he trudged to and from classes, pounds of Braille books in tow, he seemed diligent and good-hearted. There was no reason for Dean to think he was going to be accepted by a kid like this. He had only ever been accepted by girls with loose morals and shaky self-respected, boys who did drugs and smoked cigarettes (like him), and of course, Sammy.

In the end he commenced to watch the boy rise on his own, extending the cane before him. When he was referred to as a knight, he gasped out loud, and tried to smoothly turn it into a laugh. “Dean Winchester. Let me carry your books to class.” The meek look on the kid’s face was dispelled in an instant. The smile was small, yet godly. As if he held a secret no one else could know.

Castiel committed the name to memory. Dean Winchester. He was kind and caring, and Castiel wanted to be around him more. His smiled widened minutely at Dean's request, his head ducking as a flush crept down his neck. "I wouldn't want to cause you any trouble," he said hesitantly, despite the fact that he wanted to say yes.

If he had been daring a moment ago, now he truly reined himself in. "Alright. Take care, Castiel. I'm off to see a dickhead about a pair of glasses." His grin was wide and self-assured, completely missed on the blind boy. It was only after he had turned and strutted down the hall in the opposite direction that he realized that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bell for dismissal buzzed loudly, or else his ears were just sensitive to the noise. He had cut the last two periods-- not uncommon-- and smoked a frosted cigarette (he had licked the tip and stuck it into a baggie of cocaine). As soon as he inhaled he felt the strength of his source. It made him laugh. The girl he was smoking with, hidden behind the dumpsters far behind the cafeteria doors, was dull-haired and histrionic. It mattered little to him what she said or thought, and he spoke naught of Castiel or the boys he was about to take on single-handedly.

There were three of them. He found them in a dead-end hallway, at one of their lockers. He approached them alone, slammed one of the prick's hands inside the metal closet. A blow to the face stunted his scream-- when Dean was in motion, all the anger of years passed blossomed and emanated from fists, feet and teeth. By the time it was finished, the two sophomores had blood dripping from various places. Dean was hauled off by administration, gnashing at air. His lip was split, his nose and eyebrow piercing had both been bloodied, and a bruise was forming under his right eye. Yet he smiled for the fact that they would never bother Castiel again.

The rest of Castiel's day was rather uneventful, and he couldn't get Dean out of his head. His voice, his words, even the air around him was memorable. He listened as he walked through the halls, hoping to catch the voice of the kind upperclassman that had returned his glasses to him. He never caught sound of Dean, but he heard his name plenty of times. Something about a violent fight that had gone down. Kids were passing around stories of Dean taking on two, three, sometimes ten guys at once for seemingly no reason. They all called him an animal, sounding both in awe and afraid. Castiel knew that it was his fault. Dean had even said that he was going to take care of the kids who had harassed Castiel. The young boy switched direction unexpectedly, heading towards the office where he knew Dean would be getting chewed out if the stories were true. He tapped through the halls as quickly as he could manage, wanting to get there as soon as possible. Finally, he made his way into the administration office. "I'd like to speak with the principal please," he said softly, hoping he would be heard. "Oh, I'm sorry darlin'," the secretary said, her loud nails clicking on the keyboard, "He's dealin' with a discipline problem right now." Castiel stepped forward, nodding slightly. "That's what I want to talk to him about," he insisted, "Dean was only trying to defend me. Those boys had been harassing me all week." The secretary paused in her typing, and Castiel imagined that she had a disbelieving look on her face. "Alright," she said slowly, pushing her chair back. She came around the counter, taking Castiel by the elbow and walking him slowly towards the office, knocking on the door. "Sir, this boy has something to say about the fight that happened," she said, nudging him to walk in. Castiel took a few steps, the door closing behind him. "The fight wasn't Dean's fault," he said softly but firmly.

"You don't seem to understand that every time you choose to behave like this-- to cut class, fight, not turn in your work-- you're only hurting yourself..." The lecture was well intentioned, but the advice was bad. It was too late for him to turn things around. The only one he cared about hurting was Sam, and dropping out of school to make money wouldn't hurt his brother. In fact, it would help him. The sooner Dean could work and pay off bills and save money for Sam's imminent higher education, the better. He didn't expect the polished assistant principal to understand that. "There needs to be some type of retribution for--"

"There don't need to be no retribution. I'm not repayin' them for what they had comin'. Tell me, Mr. P, how is it okay for these idiots to march around the school, completely stompin' out the light of this boy who's just tryin' to survive? They don't know him; they don't know what it's like to be him. I'm not sayin' that beatin' their asses was the best option, but seein' as none of you seemed to wanna do anythin' about it, I did." He stopped there, pleased with himself but not wanting to take it any further. They had offered him ice for his face, some sanitary cloths to wipe the dried blood from around his lip and piercings. He had waved those away with a swollen hand. The darkness under his likewise puffed up eye had grown quickly. His father would be less than impressed. Maybe he would just ignore Dean, and the phone calls from the school, like he had so many times before. John had given up on the elder years ago.

Halfway through the principal's explanation of the apparent retribution at hand, the door opened. A portly female introduced the boy who had taken him hours before. Again his appearance stunned him, silenced the room momentarily. He was short, small even for his age. Somehow that made him more likable. Dean guessed it was because the size reminded him of Sam. Everything else was different. The din of his voice, the set of his jaw and the gentle slope of his shoulders. The curve at the base of the arm, where the wrist joined the hand. 

When he caught his breath he muttered, "Dammit, Castiel," in a bitter tone. The boy's defense was ridiculous. Of course it was my fault, I was the one who smashed that fucker's face against the cinderblock wall-- Then it dawned on him. The true implications of this boy's words. He actually thinks that being picked on is his fault... Like it's his responsibility to suffer it alone because he's the one that's blind. 

"Stop," he heard himself say loudly. Tired from the energy expenditure and the lecture, he remained seated, though now leaned forward some. "Mr. P, this kid honestly thinks he's the one in the wrong. I don't care what he tells you. It was me. I saw the sophomores knock his glasses off and I picked 'em up, brought 'em back to him. But I couldn't let it go. Like I said a minute ago..." His eyes turned from the shiny silk tie to the plain and poorly matched attire of the boy. The glasses blocked his beautiful eyes, which caused Dean more pain than any injury could. "Suspend or expel me, call my father-- I'll get my ass whooped if I'm lucky, likely I'll just be ignored... Whatever you see fit, sir. Just don't do anythin' to him."

In a resigned manner, the assistant principal bid Castiel write up a statement about the incident (Dean thought this absurd, how the hell would he write without his weird technology at hand?) and picked up the phone.

Castiel tapped further into the office, making his way towards the chairs in front of the assistant principal's desk. He felt the back of one, reaching forward to feel that it was the one that Dean was sitting in. He moved over slightly until he could sit in the empty chair. He turned his face towards the other boy. "I'm sorry you got hurt for defending me," he said softly, knowing that the assistant principal wouldn't be listening while he was on the phone, "You really didn't need to." Castiel had learned a long time ago that people were going to act the way they wanted, no matter what. "I'm used to dealing with people like them, but it's not their faults," he continued, "They're ignorant, and they don't understand, but they can't be blamed for it. One day they'll learn, but I would prefer if it wasn't at someone else's expense." On instinct, Castiel reached his hand out towards where he knew Dean's face would be. His touch was cautious, gentle. He could feel Dean's face swelling, dried blood around his injuries. He felt a few piercings as well. "Dean," he breathed, retracting his hand, "Please don't ever do anything like that again."

As the boy moved into and around the tiny office, his eyes stayed fixed. This would surely be the last time they saw each other, save in the halls, and Dean needed to drink in all his delicate features. A freshman, and it being only November... the oldest Castiel could be was fourteen. That was endearing, but Dean was dangerous. He knew that. His father had picked up the phone-- to his shock-- and the two men were now exchanging dutiful words. 

Suddenly Castiel's hand was on his shoulder. It jarred him, though he didn't shift. He sat stone still as if a wild bird had landed near him and could be scared off at any moment. These small interactions with Castiel were what he had been hoping for since he first spotted the boy nearly three months ago. To be touched like that was... it was deeper than personal. Blind people used all their other senses, or so he had heard, to process things. That means Castiel could probably smell his body odor, the scent of smoke laced with it. He could feel Dean's lean capped shoulder under his clothing (too light for the weather), and his warmth.

When the hand retracted, Dean watched him sidle over to the other chair and take a seat. He was a walking miracle. The boy started talking towards him. Dean quipped, "I didn't get hurt." Castiel couldn't see him, it was fine to lie. Then he continued to speak, and his hand moved through the air like a scythe. Fingertips traced Dean's freckled skin, and he felt his face fall in a solemn way. He was never touched like this, in such a foreign manner. Even when Sammy was just a little boy and would sit on Dean's lap and play with his hair and features, it wasn't like this. The touch came without eyes to guide it, and the hand moved around his skin in an independent way, albeit disjointed way.

At some point Dean winced, sucked in air when the fingers hit the large bruising under his eye. Then Castiel asked him not to do it again. That nearly took him out. How could he make a promise like that, when he couldn't even keep the promises he made to Sam? What's this stuff--/ Sammy, don't touch it, it's just.../ Drugs? Cigarettes? Dean, dad would kill you!//Fuck dad, he does nothin' for us anyhow/ But... I don't want you to use these things, it's... Dean, listen to me. You could die.// I'm not gonna die, I'll be careful...

The only thing he could say was something sarcastic and filled with anger. All due to his self-hatred, and the knowledge that he couldn't stop himself from doing most of what he did. "You're not my mother, 'n if I see any those fucks bother you one more time," now his brought his voice to a whisper, feeling sick. "I'll kill them."

A moment later the AP hung up the phone and said, "Mr. Novak, about that statement... I'll need it now. As for you, Dean, I'm obligated to suspend you on charge of assault. However, since this is the third time you've been in a fight this year alone, I'm choosing to forward your case to the superintendent. You cannot come back to school until the date the super sees fit..." 

The rest was immaterial. Dean looked over at Castiel, his piercing green eyes unnoticed. When he realized the boy couldn't see him or feel his gaze, his face saddened. See, I told you. Won't be around long enough to get to know him cause you just keep fuckin' up.

"You don't need a statement," Castiel said softly, "Because this was not Dean's fault." He took off his glasses, looking towards the assistant principal before he continued speaking. "I've been bullied since the school year began," he continued quietly, "And I thought I could handle it on my own. But I couldn't. When Dean gave me my glasses back the other day, I was angry and hurt. Dean could see that. So he took it upon himself to protect me from further harm. He didn't have to, and he shouldn't have, but he did. Are you really going to punish Dean for protecting a bullied blind boy and not the people that have been harassing me all year?" Castiel paused here, letting that sink in. He slipped his glasses on again, figuring that his emphasis had been made. "If you punish Dean, I require that you punish me as well. It was my fault he was in that fight to begin with. If he's not permitted back in school, then I request the same because he is the only person in this school that has ever shown me kindness." He knew that his brothers would kill him for this, but Castiel wasn't about to let Dean get unfairly punished.

The AP looked across his desk to the two boys before him. They could not have been more different. On the left, Dean Winchester, a boy he had been warned about by the middle school administration a few months prior to his arrival in ninth grade. The fifteen—or was he sixteen now?—year old had been caught stealing, vandalizing, assaulting, cutting class and self-harming. He wore dark clothing, strange jewelry and make-up, and always smelled as unwashed as he appeared. The support he had at home was marginal, made minimal by the experience of raising a younger brother (from what he and Dean's teachers' could gather, the father was often away and the mother had perished years ago in a house fire that had traumatized the elder son). Each time the AP spoke to him he was more and more disappointed. It was not often that he lost hope in a youth, but this one was beyond his aid.

On the right was the newer student. He looked unhealthy for his age, in a way. Most freshman boys were healthy in color, with a clean appearance. This one nearly always looked disheveled—without blame, clearly. His hair was constantly unkempt, his clothing always ill fitting. Something about his icy, crystalline stare was unnerving. Perhaps it was better the boy could not see; to have those eyes penetrate knowingly would be too much to bear. At least the AP felt protected by his inherent invisibility in the presence of this child.

And at the day's end, these two were both that-- children. There was no reason for administration to concede to the whims of either a bully or a victim. The obligation stopped past the Chancellor's code, and that was flimsy itself. 

After a minute Mr. Pogue spoke decisively, his hands folded just under that lilac silk tie. "Castiel, the statement is required for incidents like this. Especially one you claim to hold part in. Aside from that, I can consent to give you a day's in school suspension, or put you out of school with the request that you not return until accompanied by a parent. However, Dean's sentence will not change. I'm not sure if you two are friends-- to be honest, that seems a bit unlikely to me, but in all my years I've learned that students can be as unpredictable as anything... I'm not sure if you're friends or how well you know him, but Dean cannot be trusted as far as the school officials are concerned. Based on his record, at this point in the game I'm obligated to forward this to the superintendent, and I will. The boys who bullied you will also be reprimanded, though not as severely." He paused there, watching Castiel's face to see if there was any confusion. There was only clarity, and that pitch-perfect stare. "I've laid out two options for you. Choose one. The rest remains as I've stated."

Dean's heart sunk when he heard the words cannot be trusted. It wasn't enough to hear it from his father, from his teachers, but now the AP was saying it to a blissful-- if oddly ethereal-- freshman. It wasn't fair. Then, he reminded himself, nothing was. Besides, these consequences were due to his own actions. He sighed heavily and shifted in his seat, badly wanting a cigarette and a few lines. The frosted smoke's effect had long since worn off, and life was bleak. His stomach was empty and his nerves fraying presently. 

Castiel stayed quiet, absorbing the assistant principal's words. His face remained passive, but inside he was seething. "I will not return to school until Dean has," he said decisively, his voice naturally soft spoken but now with a hard edge, "When he returns, one of my brothers will bring me in as well." Dean was the only one that has ever shown any sign of kindness towards him and Castiel refused to abandon him. "If you truly require a statement," he went on, "You will have to write it yourself or allow me to get my Braille typewriter from one of my classrooms." 

"Son of a bitch," Dean whispered. Mr. P shot him a look, but said nothing. Castiel seemed inclined toward the expression, but didn't react. This was not the outcome he had wanted, at all. "Don't do this to yourself. He's right," Dean gestured to the AP, though again the gesture was lost on the thin boy. "You don't know me from a hole in the wall, and it ain't fair to you to lose time in class just cause of my asinine decisions. Look, I know what I've got myself into. I was fuckin' up—“ He ignored Mr. P's protest at the swear. "—long before you ever arrived, 'n I'll keep doin' it after I'm gone... Look, Mr. P. I can write up his statement while you sit there filling at your damn forms. But I hope you call his house and drill his parents and tell them what happened, cause he cannot waste his own time like this." Now Dean turned to Castiel. "You can't waste your own time like this!" 

Mr. P slid him a pen and official document paper. "I'll be in touch with whoever is at home shortly. And, for the first time, Dean, what you say has some truth in it. Castiel, you should not hurt your own academic standing—the decisions of others should not come at your expense. I understand you feel a certain way about the situation, morally or otherwise, but you hold too much potential to fall now. Your teachers speak as highly of you as ever, pleased with your performance independently and in groups. You are a diligent worker, likely to make high honor roll your first quarter in high school. That's a feat most regular freshman don't make—“

Dean jumped a bit in his seat; the pen clattering to the desk after his jagged hand had scrawled Castiel's name and the date. "What, you sayin' he's not regular? How the--"

"Mr. Winchester, calm down. I mean no offense. I'm just trying to drive a point home. Write your statement now, Castiel."

Ignoring the assistant principal, Castiel turned towards Dean. "Your name is Dean Winchester," he began quietly, "Your voice is a low baritone that flows smoothly with an underlying rumble that will continue to get deeper as you get older. You always smell like leather and rain and smoke and you've walked behind me in the halls more than once. You're an upperclassman, most likely a junior. You associate with other students like yourself and you have a rather fierce reputation. However, you're rather gentle and kind when you want to be." He paused now, allowing that to sink in. Castiel notices much more than people gave him credit for. "You are much more than a hole in the wall, Dean Winchester." He imagined the other boy probably looked rather shocked. Turning back to the assistant principal, Castiel leaned back in his seat. "Michael or Raphael should be home," he stated, "None of us have seen our father since the night he disappeared after our mother died giving birth to me. Please inform them of what has happened and that I will not be returning until Dean has. I'm confident enough in my abilities that I'll be able to catch up when I return." Castiel refused to budge on the subject. He had never been so recalcitrant about anything, but if there was something to fight for, it would be Dean. Everyone around the older boy seems to have given up on him, but Castiel could tell that he had so much to give if he had more faith in himself. He was struck with the strangest urge to help Dean, despite the fact that he was the one who always needed help. 

Mr. Pogue gave a curt nod and began to work on his forms. It was already four o'clock, and Dean felt both guilt and anxiety. Not only had he held these poor people after school, but Sammy would be getting home from tutoring around this time, and if Dean wasn't there to cook him dinner he would panic. The boy could feet himself, sure, but he was used to Dean being home for him. There were only a few days a week-- Saturday, Sunday, and Thursday-- when he worked at Singer's auto. Otherwise his time was split up between caring for Sam, tucking him in and getting fucked up. Whether he cut school to party or sneaked out at night made no difference.

Castiel's words were beetles under his skin. For several long minutes he said nothing. He wrote Castiel's statement down in a strained manner; when he was finished he gave it to Mr. P and took his cell phone out to text Sam. Afterschool with the AP. b home late. sry. His brother wasn't the one to worry about though. The boy's reactions were always meek, even if anger would be justified. Dad was of more concern, though Dean had concluded he would most likely do nothing about this situation. As always...

When the AP finally dismissed them, he found himself walking out of the building with Castiel at his side. A thousand questions burned behind his tongue. How did you know about the hall? How can you recognize my voice? How did you match my voice to my name, reputation? Where is your father? What is your home like life? Instead he remained silent until they had walked to where the after school buses waited. They lived on separate sides of town, and Dean was not rich enough to own a car, despite that he was legal to drive. 

Before he turned to catch his bus he pinched Castiel on the shoulder so he would turn towards him. "Hey, I'm sorry... Uh..." Jesus, there was so much he wanted to say. "Sorry."

Then he was gone, slouched in the back of the bus inhaling bumps of cocaine off of a book propped on his knees.

Castiel turned towards the soft pinch on his shoulder, opening his mouth to respond to Dean's words when he heard the older boy disappear. He sighed, turning around again. He knew that the special bus that usually took him home was long gone. He tapped around with his cane until he felt one of the benches that lay outside the building. He sat himself down, pulling his backpack to sit on his lap. He felt through it until his emergency phone bumped against his hand. It was strange looking and covered in Braille instead of numbers, but he needed some way to contact people when he needed them. Castiel felt each button until he found the number 3, Gabriel's speed dial. He called his closest brother, hoping that the other was done with work and could pick him up. Castiel didn't want to call Michael or Raphael, not after the call they probably just had with the assistant principal. Gabriel said that he would come as soon as possible and Castiel put his phone away, pulling out one of his textbooks so he could read the pages for that night. His mind kept drifting to Dean. Castiel was feeling a little residual embarrassment for letting it slip that he knew so much about the other boy after they seemed to not know each other at all. 

Castiel had heard Dean on his first day, laughing about something or other with his friends and had been immediately enthralled by his voice. It was so distinctive and calming and Castiel gathered up the snatches he could hear in the hallways greedily. Despite being quiet and shy, Castiel slowly gathered information about the voice as the months went on. He connected certain events to give the voice a name, a few more to give it a background, and one passing comment in the hallway from one of his friends, along with today when Dean had sat next to him had revealed that it was him who stood behind Castiel, giving off the scent of rain and smoke. Castiel was jerked out of his thoughts by a booming voice.

"Get in loser, we're going shopping!" Gabriel shouted out, the laughter evident in his voice. A little smile broke out on Castiel's face. Out of all his brothers, Gabriel had the best sense of humor and wasn't afraid to joke around with Castiel. It made him feel good. Moments later, Castiel felt a hand on his elbow, guiding him to the car. "Thank you for coming to get me, Gabriel," he said. Gabriel chuckled. "No problem, little bro," he replied, ruffling Castiel's hair before helping him get into the car without bumping his head, "You wanna tell me why you need to be picked up so late?" Castiel shook his head quickly. "Michael will be sure to tell you," he answered, turning his head towards the window so he could pretend to look out of it. Gabriel eyed his little brother in his periphery, sighing quietly. Though he wasn't around as often as he wished he could be because of work, Gabriel wanted Castiel to feel like he could tell him things. 

Minutes later, Castiel sat in a kitchen chair, Michael's angry, echoing voice reverberating all around him. He could tell that Gabriel was still in the room by the uncomfortable shuffling noise of fabric, and he could hear Raphael drumming his fingers lightly on the tabletop. "How could you jeopardize your academics like that? You were on a good path, Castiel! Why would you throw that all away for some idiot who's going to end up trading blowjobs for crack in the streets?" Castiel flinched at the vulgar words, anger crawling under his skin. Dean would not end up like that. Not if Castiel had anything to say about it. He sat quietly through all of Michael's rant, ending by saying that he would not return to school until Dean's suspension had been lifted. Though Castiel hadn't realized it before, this meant that he wouldn't be able to see Dean for quite a while, though it would be the same even if Castiel hadn't gotten himself suspended. He slowly climbed the stairs to his room, heart sinking at the prospect of waiting so long to hear Dean's voice again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Getting pistol-whipped was less than Dean deserved. By the time his father was through John was panting, Sam was sobbing and screaming in the corner, and Dean was splayed on his hands and knees, droplets of blood pooling on the beige tiled kitchen floor. Dad wiped the sweat from his brow with a thick flannel sleeve, shouting obscenities at both boys. Then he disappeared through the back door, without warning or explanation. That was the last they would see of him for two weeks.

Dean woke the next morning, Thursday, barely able to stand when his alarm went off. It was always his responsibility to help Sam get ready for school, whether or not the elder went himself. In fact, he was consistently one hour late to school-- and had been since the first day of freshman year-- because he waited with his brother until he got on the middle school bus. Sam was twelve now, and soon enough would be old enough to get himself up and ready, but Dean felt more comfortable when he saw him off. 

Being mid-November, it was pitch black outside at 6AM. As Dean washed a few dishes in the kitchen he caught his reflection in the window. The bruises were plenty, and far worse than when he had gone to sleep last night. There was a split on his cheek that had become a swollen welt, and one of his ribs ached terribly whenever he drew breath or moved sharply. His thighs were covered in bruises, too, he noticed when he wiped his hands on his jeans moments later. And of course, his back was a wreck of black and blue. Luckily he wore too many layers of tattered clothing to truly see the mess-- there were other scars on his body that caused him to avoid being naked with himself or others-- that lay underneath. 

Whenever he had been sexual it had been under the veil of drugs and drink, and generally in a dimmed room. He was generally fucked up-- even now, as the bus rumbled on down the street, he locked himself inside the tiny one-story house and limped down the hall to his bedroom. Time to pull out the big guns, he thought. From his bedside drawer he produced a gram of heroin, which he took rarely, and a menthol cigarette. The pain was nice, because it reminded him that he was disgusting and completely discard-able. Yet he deigned to take the painkiller this morning because he knew in a few hours he would be at the auto yard. All in all, he didn't want to feel.

Within minutes of blowing the bag, he sat at the open window of his bedroom and sucked down the smoke. His head was heavy with dope, thoughts sloshing together in a slow manner. He began to nod off when the idea occurred to him. It took him a few minutes to make it into the living room, where the phone book was. Another several minutes passed before he found the right number. It was only 7:30AM when he called the Novak residence, but he got an answer.

In a thick, monotonous voice he said, "Castiel home?"

Castiel had sat stubbornly in his room all morning. All three of his brothers had come by to make him get ready for school, but he refused. For the first time in Castiel's life, he had gone too far. Michael had come in yelling more than once, the last visit ending with a hard slap to Castiel's face. He cupped his stinging cheek, sniffling lightly, but he still refused. If this was how Michael wanted to act when Castiel finally stood up for something, then so be it. Raphael had come in after, standing quietly in the doorway for a moment before leaving a cold compress in Castiel's palm. Castiel refused it. He knew based on how hard Michael had hit him that it would probably bruise later, but that's what he wanted. It would remind him that he stayed strong for once in his life. 

Minutes later, Castiel was in the shower, hissing when the spray hit his face directly. He held on to the bars on either side, washing up as well as he could. He hadn't needed help in the shower for years, but he still sometimes felt that he didn't do the best job. It was now, without brothers fussing over him, that Castiel thought of Dean. He hoped that the other boy was alright. He feared for his wellbeing, based on how he had spoken of his father, and the angry tone he had heard on the phone when the assistant principal called him. Distantly he heard the phone ring. 

Gabriel saw the caller I.D, picking it up before Michael or Raphael could get to it. He wasn't surprised at all when the voice on the other end asked for Castiel. "Unfortunately, he is home," Gabriel answered evenly, "He should be in school. Instead he's here. In the shower in fact." He paused for a moment, not for the Winchester boy to respond, but to decide what he should do himself. "I'll go see if he's almost finished up." Gabriel carried the phone nonchalantly past Michael's office and headed for Castiel's bathroom, knocking gently on the door. "Little bro," he said softly, "Someone's on the phone for you." Gabriel hadn't gone to see him after Michael had hit him, unsure of what he could do or say. He figured that the least he could do was allow him to speak with the boy he suddenly felt the need to protect. He heard the water go off and the rustling of Castiel drying himself off. Moments later the door was open. "You forgot a shirt, doofus," Gabriel teased, poking Castiel lightly on the stomach. Castiel batted him away, a small smile on his slowly bruising face. "Shut up, Gabriel and give me the phone," he joked back. Gabriel placed the phone in his palm and Castiel brought it up to his ear, unsure who would want to speak with him. "Hello?"

There was a long wait. Dean sat slumped against the window, and forgot his cigarette until it burned his fingertips. The crisp November air flushed his face and tousled his hair. It was shaggy, with remnants of black dye. As he listened to the shuffling and muffled voices on the other end of the line, his lids drooped and he felt himself nodding off again. It wasn't often he did dope-- there was too much at risk with being incoherent; he would not put his brother in a situation like that, especially seeing as half the time their father was home he was drunk or so preoccupied with his job he may as well have been gone. Dean only did certain drugs when his brother wasn't around. This was going to be a long stretch of days home alone. Chances are he would create more trouble than was needed. Then again, that seemed to be his M.O..

Castiel's voice rang clear as his bright eyes, waking Dean from his stupor. "Hey... Cas," he droned. "Just callin to say you needa fuckin go to school." He found that he had already planned his speech. Either that or he had merely tapped into a reserve of bullshit. It dripped through his lips as he spoke. Setting the phone down-- with Castiel on speaker-- he lit another smoke. It was all he could do to keep himself upright. The weather was beautiful, the sun finally breaking in through the trees. However, it made him shiver.

Exhaling smoke he said, "Intendent ain't gonna see me for another two weeks, and I'm likely to get a month out. It's stupid if you stay home. 'n fact, it's martyrdom, 'n I don't like martyrdom. It's annoying. Besides, 's not like I'm your friend. Go to school, okay? And don't hesitate to let me know if anyone's fuckin with you 'gain. 'kay?"

Castiel heard Dean's voice, but it sounded wrong. Something was off. His forehead creased as he listened to the other boy speak, heart sinking ever so slightly. "Dean," he said, unsure of what he was going to say next, "Dean, you can't say that to me. You can't." He stopped, knowing that Gabriel was still standing in front of him. Castiel waved him off, taking a few steps back into the bathroom so he could close the door. "You don't get to say that we aren't friends and then offer me protection. You don't get to call me a martyr and pretend that you aren't one yourself. You knew what would happen when you went to confront my harassers, and you did it anyway." Anger was boiling underneath his skin. He couldn't understand why Dean couldn't see what Castiel saw in him and it made him angry. "No matter what you think of yourself, or what other people think of you, I can see you differently and don't you dare say I can't. You had absolutely no reason so help me, and yet you did. Now you're suffering, and I refuse to let you do it alone. I can easily keep up with my work outside of school. They can't take my textbooks back seeing as we had to buy them ourselves in Braille. This won't ruin the rest of my life, Dean. For the first time ever, I'm standing up for something and I will not let anyone push me back down. Not even you." Castiel stopped now, breathing heavily. He hadn't realized how worked up he'd gotten. His voice was soft as ever, but he could feel his lungs going overtime. There was silence on the other end of the phone and Castiel figured that Dean had been taken off guard by his little outburst. "I know you're in a different grade, but Michael bought my books four years in advance. If you would like, I can translate them for you and you can do the work that you're missing as well." Castiel waited for a response, his heart in his throat. 

The energy in Castiel's voice was unprecedented. He was always so soft-spoken, until now. When he was finished with his outburst, Dean laughed. It was slow and nonchalant. Generally he felt bitter, or would feel bitter at a speech like that. However, the drugs had smoothed him over to the point where all he felt was warm and gooey. The laughter caused his ribs to ache, despite the fact that the dope had considerably numbed his sore muscles.

When he finished, he took another drag off the cigarette and said, "Whatever, dude. I'm not gonna go on like this with you... 've spoken my bit, 'n you're just a kid... Catch up on your work 'n I'll call you back when I know the return date." It was callous and brief, exactly what he meant it to be. There was no more reason to fight. Castiel was more mature than other freshmen, that much was clear, but why had yet to be revealed. Dean was in no mood-- after the drugs and the beating-- to force this boy into compliance. Rather, he resigned to let him screw up his academic year on his own.

"Castiel Novak," he muttered, and laughed again as he hung up the phone. When the cigarette was finished he tossed the butt from the window and stumbled to the bathroom to vomit. Then he proceeded to lay on his bed and nod out for an hour-- a gram was far too much for someone who was unused to heroin. But then, that's what he liked. The ability to put himself out of commission at the drop of a hat. With thick fingers he set an alarm on his cell phone for two in the afternoon, when he would need to leave for work. After that he sank into oblivion.

Castiel sat in the bathroom, the dial tone in his ear for a good ten minutes before he finally hung up. He couldn't understand how Dean could so willingly give up on himself. He had so much to offer if he chose to. Underneath his reputation, the fights, the drugs, the attitude, Castiel could hear someone crying for help whether he knew he was doing it himself or not. He placed the phone on the sink and stood, feeling around until he found his shirt. Slipping it on, he grabbed the phone again and exited the bathroom. He heard someone stand up straight from where they were leaning against the wall a few feet away. Castiel knew it was Gabriel. Raphael and Michael never slouched. He held the phone out to his brother and walked towards his room. 

Castiel wanted to get through to Dean, he just didn't know how. He honestly wasn't all that experienced at dealing with people, his peers usually choosing to leave him alone. He didn't know if it was the same for others like himself, but he'd found that once people realized he was blind, many of them tended to assume that he was also deaf and dumb. They said things in front of him as if he wasn't there, and always seemed surprised when he scored highly on tests. Dean hadn't been like that. Dean spoke to him as if he was just another kid in the hallway and it was exactly what Castiel needed. He craved it. Dean had made him feel normal, and Castiel was going to do whatever he could to help Dean. He'd heard in the hallways before that Dean worked part-time at the auto shop in town. Singer's place. If he remembered correctly, Dean was working today, though probably not until after school hours. Castiel stopped just outside his door, making an about-face, hoping that Gabriel was still in the hallway. "Gabriel?" he called out. "Leggo," his brother answered in response, not having moved from his spot. "I need you to take me somewhere. The Singer auto shop in town," Castiel said firmly. Gabriel raised his eyebrows, though he knew Castiel couldn't see. He was silent for a moment as he looked at his little brother's unseeing eyes, one surrounded by bluish purple skin that crept down his cheek. "Just say when," he said, forcing a smile into his voice. Castiel nodded. He was going to see Dean and make him understand.

The long-sleeved thermal was frayed at the edges, but comfortable. Over it he had a buttoned up flannel, too-big on him. It was a hand-me down, as were his lined jeans. It was frigid outside that afternoon, and Dean was ill-prepared. He took the bus across town and then walked the rest of the way to the auto yard, limping and puffing the whole time. Before he had left his house he provided a note for Sam, and had tossed an empty bottle of whiskey far into the backyard. 

One look at Dean was enough to make Bobby say, "You ain't workin today, 'n I don't care what you have t' say about it." He took the scrappy teen by the elbow and led him into a cramped office that smelt worse of whiskey and cigarettes than Dean did. It was comforting to the point where he smiled for the first time since the hit of heroin in the morning. 

In low tones, Bobby urged, "The hell happened?"

"Fight. Some assholes were bothering the blind kid at school. He's a freshman, Bobby, I couldn't..."

The grey-haired man drew his face back, reproachful. His hand still grasped Dean's arm. "Another suspension?"

"Nah, they moved it to the superintendent. Dunno when the hearing it, but I'll be outta school til then..."

"Oh, boy, I could slap you silly for makin the same mistake again. But it looks like yer father did enough of that already."

Dean's eyes found the floor.

"You smell awful." He released his grip now. "You can sit around and watch me or you can go home and rest. Choice is yours."

"Stay."

"Figures."

Bobby allowed Dean to be his gopher for the day, fetching rags and bottles of oil when he needed them. The work was minimal and not strenuous, but it suited the drunk sixteen year old just fine. They exchanged all sorts of stories, being two of four people on the job that afternoon, and even had a few laughs. 

Mid-way through his shift he sat outside in his oil-stained clothing, smoking and enjoying the rustle of dead leaves. An unfamiliar car pulled up-- nothing new-- and an all too familiar frame stepped out.

Castiel stepped out of the car slowly, not wanting to bump his head. He felt Gabriel by his side in an instant, a hand on his elbow. Castiel would have rolled his eyes and settled for lifting his eyebrows at his brother. He’d forgotten his glasses at home, not wanting to take the time to look for them and not wanting to ask someone to find them. The house had been dead silent when they left, and Castiel knew it was Michael’s way of punishing him. He hated it when he couldn’t hear where his brothers were, whether it be Michael typing on his laptop or Raphael turning pages of the newspaper. When people didn’t make noise, it was all too easy for Castiel to believe that he was alone. 

“I’m not five Gabriel,” Castiel chastised quietly, a hint of a smile on his face. The hand disappeared the next second, and Castiel knew that Gabriel would be holding his hands up in a defeated way. “Do you see Dean?” he asked next, his face turned towards his brother. Gabriel looked around, seeing a young kid sitting out front, holding a cigarette. He looked pretty beat up, not to mention a bit wasted. “Yeah,” he croaked, clearing his throat a little, “I see him.” Castiel stood up a little straighter. “What’s he look like? Is he still hurt?” he questioned immediately. He knew what Dean had felt like after the fight, but he was worried about what else may have happened to him. “He… he doesn’t look all that great,” Gabriel answered honestly, unable to lie to Castiel. Not today. “Thank you,” Castiel said, knowing that Gabriel didn’t have to tell him. The two brothers stood there for a moment, Gabriel unsure of what Castiel wanted him to do and Castiel unsure of what his next move should be.

Watching the two brothers talk at the hood of the car made for an awkward scene. He smoked his cigarette in feigned confidence, completely taken aback by this new development. Good thing he’d blown a few bumps in the bathroom not too long ago. At least he would be able to stay alert for any conversation. Again, questions flew through his mind. How’d you find me? Why are you here? Which brother is this? How many do you have? Instead he remained where he was, leaning against the brick siding of the garage.

“I can hear you, you know.” Did they think he couldn’t? They stood there mentioning how he didn’t look great—before coming to Bobby’s he had cleaned out the gash the pistol had left on his cheek, as well as his piercings and mouth. A tooth was loose, but that couldn’t be seen. Nor could the bruising on his arms, legs, back and… well, his entire torso was a mess. That couldn’t be lied about, and this strange hazel-eyed brother had already thrown him under the bus. The brother looked only a year or so older than him; Dean had no reason to fear him and wouldn’t.

“Whaddyou want?”

Castiel blushed and turned his head away, unaware that his bruised face was now towards Dean. He knew how it felt to have people talk like you weren’t there. Gabriel, on the other hand, threw on a trademark smirk. “My apologies for informing my brother, who is strangely concerned for your wellbeing, about the state you’re in,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. He gently gripped Castiel by the elbow, no longer caring that he didn’t want to be led around. He walked them over to Dean, depositing his little brother in front of the other boy. “I’m obviously here because there’s something wrong with my car,” he said, still a hint of sarcasm in his voice, “So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to find someone to make the clicking noise go away.” With that, he left the two boys, entering the main part of the shop to pretend there was something wrong with his car.

Castiel stood there a little awkwardly. He hadn’t really thought this through. He also didn’t actually know where Dean was. A heavy blush staining his face, Castiel looked from side to side slowly. “W-Where are you?” he asked quietly, wishing that he didn’t have to. He knew that Gabriel had most likely left him facing Dean, but for all he knew, the other boy was several feet away. As caring as his brother was, Castiel knew that Gabriel liked to play tricks.

The brother caught attitude just as quickly as Dean had, and the coked-up teen was in no mood to be polite. That bitterness, the residual hatred, had returned to him. If his body hadn’t been so injured and tense he would have already toppled over the edge and into self-harm territory. Then again, some would consider recreational drug use self-harm.

Regardless, he pulled his last cigarette, tossed the butt past the unsuspecting boy, and sat silently. For a minute he just watched. Castiel’s eyes looked sad, there was no mistaking that; there was a little puff of skin under them as if he hadn’t slept that much the night prior. His hair was rumpled, but not terribly so, and his clothes were thinner than he was. At least he was wearing a jacket. That was more than Dean could say for himself.

“You can figure that out,” he scoffed.

Castiel caught Dean’s voice, turning his face towards it. He was a little to Castiel’s left, a few feet away. He took a few steps forward, wishing that he’d grabbed his cane before getting out of the car. His feet were cautious, his arms raised slightly in front of him. He felt ridiculous, but he didn’t want to be so far out in the open. There was a crack in the uneven sidewalk that caught the toe of Castiel’s shoe, sending him to his hands and knees. It didn’t faze him, having happened to many times before. Rather than making a big deal out of it, Castiel simply stood up slowly, brushing off his knees and continuing on his way. When he could smell rain and smoke, hidden under whiskey, Castiel stopped, figuring he was close enough.

“I’m sorry for coming here,” Castiel said softly, “I didn’t really think it through. I just… I wanted to see if you were alright.” He reached up to scratch his face, wincing minutely when he pressed too hard against the bruised skin.

Watching the bird fall to his knees was enough to jar Dean back to reality. He had no clue what this boy’s life was like, and stalking him for three months hadn’t changed that. Neither had engaging in a fight under the guise of defending an underclassman. Who was Dean to kid himself? He was as likely to pick a fight with or without Castiel as an excuse.

Of course he had been hoping the boy would come forward and touch him again. The brief touches he had been lucky enough to soak up yesterday were not enough to last him; hunger filled him again. It was different from the hunger he felt around girls. After all he had tested and tried over the past five years, he still hadn’t come to a decision about what his type his. He wasn’t even sure if he liked vagina better than penis, let alone people who fit or did not fit into archetypal gender roles. Going without Castiel’s touch now that he had had it, in whatever minute way, killed him.

And now that he stood a mere foot away, Dean saw the slight bruising of his cheek. “Woah,” came out of him before he could stop it. He kicked himself off the wall and reached out boldly to touch Castiel’s cheek, completely ignoring the comment that had been made. “The fuck is this?”

A zing of lightning shot down Castiel’s spine when he felt Dean’s hand against his cheek. “It’s nothing,” he said, reaching up to wrap gentle fingers around Dean’s wrist and pull his hand away. His grip lingered longer than it should have before he finally let go, bringing his hand back to his side. “Michael was not very happy with my decision.” He knew that this painted his brother in a bad light, but the eldest had always been very strict since father had left, demanding respect and obedience, often forgetting that they were all brothers. Raphael was almost as bad. Only Gabriel never forgot and treated Castiel like a brother rather than a helpless child left in his charge. “I don’t regret it,” he added belatedly. Without thinking, Castiel reached up, allowing his hand to ghost over Dean’s face. He felt a new gash on his cheek, though his face was clean.

“You know,” he said comfortably, lingering in a blink at the touch of that elegant hand. “You keep sayin how you don’t reget it, how you’re finally takin a stand and you’re not gonna let anyone tell you otherwise… but someone who was really firm in their decisions, ‘m confident, the wouldn’t have to keep sayin that. I’m thinking you’re just as scared as ever. You wanna stand up, but let’s face it. You’re fourteen livin under… your brothers’ watch? I dunno how much freedom you’re gonna grant yourself just by buckin ‘n kickin every now and then.”

He let Castiel touch his face until he voluntarily stopped. Lighting up another cigarette and blowing smoke directly in the boy’s face, he said, “Dad wasn’t too happy either.” He was tempted to spill everything—the pistol beating, the harsh words spit in his face—just to see the look on the pure, milk-white face. Dean would continue to vacillate between villainous and protective until he settled upon whether or not he wanted to let his own inhibiting walls down.

Castiel coughed, trying to wave the smoke away from his face, his eyes watering slightly. The smell was acrid and it burned, too much for his over–sensitive nose. Dean was different, almost vindictive. Castiel didn’t mind. He knew that Dean was the type of person to push the concern of others away. If the way he spoke was anything to go by, he definitely didn’t think highly of himself and probably didn’t think he deserved any sort of kindness.

“What do you suggest I do then?” Castiel asked. He didn’t sound angry or bitter, but merely curious for Dean’ opinion. This was the longest relationship of any kind that Castiel had ever had with someone near his age, everyone else deciding that he was too strange or too quiet or too boring. Despite Dean’s words of denial, Castiel wanted to believe that they were friends.

“I suggest you do you. If you’re goin down the road of success and you actually feel some type a pride in that, keep goin. More power to you. If you wanna spend the next month sittin at home with your brothers all day, do that.” Dean wanted to make it clear to Castiel that he was not going to be available for him to hang out with during the suspension time; however, he was too vexed and insecure to say so out loud. Instead he stepped back.

“I gotta get back to work. I’ll call you when I know how long the sentence’ll be.” If he remembered correctly, he may have told Castiel that same thing this morning. That was meant to be their last conversation for two weeks. Of course, the boy had changed the tides by showing up unexpectedly at his workplace. There was a silent prowess to Castiel that made him appear far less confident than his voice allowed him to sound. He was not only a breathing miracle, but a paradox at that. Myriad questions plagued Dean, racking upon each other. Still he stood firm in holding his tongue.

“Dean,” Castiel said, reaching out only to feel air when he didn’t reach in quite the right direction. He tried again, feeling nothing until finally his hand brushed against the other’s shoulder. His touch was hesitant now, shy, unsure of how Dean would react. He let his hand barely touch the other as it moved to his other shoulder, his remaining hand coming up to grip the first softly. “I will stand firm in my decision. Despite what you may think about yourself, I see you differently.” He leaned forward without thinking, his arms going to wrap very gently around Dean’s neck. He knew he was shorter than the other, forehead coming to rest around Dean’s shoulder as he hugged him. He didn’t squeeze, unsure of Dean’s other injuries, but simply let his arms rest there for a moment. It had scarcely even been a second when Castiel pulled away. “if this is the last time you choose for us to interact, then I want to leave it with no regrets. You were the first person near my own age to treat me normally and with kindness and for that, I thank you. I hope this isn’t the last time we see each other.” Castiel stood there quietly, knowing he couldn’t move away without getting lost but also feeling strange for simply standing there. He wished Gabriel would come out.

As if he had answered Castiel’s silent prayer, Gabriel came out just then. “Turns out there is no clicking noise,” he announced, coming to grip Castiel by the elbow again, “So we’ll be going.” Castiel left with his brother, still thinking about the boy who smelled of rain.

A hiss of pain escaped him when Castiel leaned in, and just as he reached up to push the boy away, he retreated. The words he said would ring through Dean's mind for days. In the past twenty-four hours, he'd said it several times, or some variation of it. /I see you differently./ What the hell was that supposed to mean? The kid was blind, for one, and had only chanced brief encounters with the junior. There was nothing to "see". Dismal and sick, he watched the brother drive his muse off, dust trailing in clouds as the tires rolled over gravel and dirt.

Sam had fed himself some pasta and leftover chicken for dinner, and was reading a book when Dean walked in. He flew across the flat, barraging his big brother with questions. /How do you feel? Did Dad call? Bobby didn't make you work, did he?/ The answers he gave the tween were satisfactory, but partial lies. He wasn't okay, and he had no idea what was going to happen next. The most he could do was see Sam got tucked in and then sidle into his tiny bedroom to play guitar until he fell asleep.

But sleep wouldn't take him. The cocaine had worn off hours ago, and maybe it was the psychological turmoil of the crash that kept him up; although, he could feel that this was different. Every other moment his mind traced its way back to Castiel, to those eyes so dead and alive at once. The thin, narrow body and prominent wristbones. Dean found himself pondering the likes of him naked, and tried to apply any experience he had had with boys to this blind one. He knew what it felt like to have a crush, and this felt like one. Yet, could it just be the strangeness of the situation giving him butterflies? He had never met a blind person, and not one between he and Sammy's age. There was too much... The weight of the situation was enough to bring on the body-aches. There would be no sleep that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nearly a week later Dean stood in full suit at the presence of the superintendent and several other school officials. He had taken the bus far across town on his own. Sam had been prepared for him to be gone the day, and went to school with a light attitude. The building the hearing was in seemed sterile and starchy, as did his only suit and tie. The officials seemed keen on his over-dress, though they didn't seemed convinced. The details of his case did not lie in his favor; nor did the staged story he had to present about why his father was unable to attend the meeting. He said something about him being on business, and added his genial smile for good measure. They still let the hammer fall hard.

That night Dean sat at the kitchen table, wearing the suit trousers and his run-down boots. He had taken off the jacket, tie, and button-up shirt. All that he wore was a dirty tank top, which revealed the stringy muscles of his chest, the tiny ropes of his triceps and his bony elbows. Sam often complained that he had gotten too thin in the past year or so. Dean chose to deny and ignore such accusations. It was not often he wore sleeveless garments; his father would see the scars from cigarette burns and razor blades. Sam cried nearly every time he saw them, but at least he wouldn't scream and beat Dean bloody. 

The phone felt heavy in his hand, but still. He had a duty to uphold. Castiel's number punched in easily, and his heartbeat quickened when someone picked up the line.

Castiel spent most of his time in his room. Whenever he left, the house was too quiet. Deadly quiet. He knew Michael was still doing it on purpose, some kind of strange psychological punishment. He also knew that after his first day at home, Gabriel had to go back to work. A chain of candy stores didn't run themselves. So Castiel remained alone, trying to focus on keeping up with his schoolwork. However, everyday, his mind would stray towards Dean. He ran their last meeting over in his head again and again. He wondered what he could have done differently or what he shouldn't have done at all. Castiel thought the hug might have been a little much, but he was naturally tactile and didn't see fault with it until later. Dean had felt strong. Much stronger than Castiel at the very least. Though he would never admit it, Castiel had dreamt about those strong arms wrapped around him, that smooth voice in his ear, rain and smoke filling his nose. Sighing, Castiel stood, deciding it was time for food.

Walking down the stairs was terrifying. Castiel couldn't hear anyone in the house, despite the fact that he knew Michael at the very least had to be home. He worked from home for Castiel. Castiel made his way to the kitchen, knowing his own home well enough that he only bumped into something twice, one thing he was sure that Gabriel had moved just to screw with him. As soon as he was in the kitchen, the phone rang. It only went off once before it was picked up. "Novak residence, Michael Novak speaking," came from somewhere on his left. Castiel nearly jumped out of his skin. He'd had no idea that Michael was in the room, and that was probably the scariest. 

Ah, Dean thought. This is the brother Castiel mentioned in Mr. P's office. Must be the oldest... And anyone older than Gabriel has to be around twenty, maybe older... So the sixteen year old put on his most confident, adult voice. He spoke with an arrogance unmatched by his actual presence. 

"Hi, Michael. This is Dean Winchester, one of Castiel's acquaintances from school. Just callin to let you know the superintended suspension I received today states I can't come back to school until January 2nd. One month and the extra time since it falls so close to the holidays... Castiel should go back to school at his earliest convenience." After a beat, he added, "'s he always this stubborn?" 

Dean slouched back in the hard wooden chair, one hand on his lean thigh and the other cradling the phone against his ear. He was still feeling some residual effects from the gram he'd blown not too long ago. John hated when he smoked in the house, but he had propped the window open, and his father wasn't expected anytime soon anyhow. Besides, what did he have to lose?

"Thank you for informing us, Mr. Winchester," Michael said evenly, his voice giving away nothing about what he felt. Castiel's face snapped towards him at the words. "Micahel, give me the phone," he said, walked slowly towards his older brother. Michael didn't even bother to cover the receiver when he said, "Castiel, sit down." Castiel didn't sit, but stopped walking, his mouth set in an angry pout. "No, Mr. Winchester, he has never been this stubborn. Until he met you he was always good. He listened well, didn't step out of line, achieved amazing things in school. After you "saved him", however, it seems everything has changed." Castiel began walking towards Michael again. "Michael, please let me speak with him?" he asked quietly. "Castiel, you will do as you're told. Now SIT DOWN," Michael responded, his voice raising at his command. Castiel flinched away, "Yes, sir." He took about ten steps back, his knees bumping a chair. He sat down slowly, his head hanging.

"Right, it's my fault the kid got a boost of confidence after what I did for him, and now wants to stick up for himself independently." There was some truth to it, he figured, though it wouldn't serve him to disclose such a thought to this older brother. He imagined the stunned look on Castiel's face after being demanded to sit. Probably the same expression he had worn several days before, when Dean had been so rude to him at the auto shop. No wonder he was so meek and submissive at school and elsewhere. No wonder he lived-- or seemed to live-- such a friendless, obedient life. Michael had trained him to accept loneliness, to accept whatever he was given. 

Then why did he want to match his punishment to Dean's? Surely he would understand that Dean needed to accept his own just desserts? Castiel need not include himself in any of it; there was one thing on which Michael and Dean both agreed. Being the oldest in a family of boys did bring out certain personality traits, regardless of what else.

"Listen, I apologize for any... disservice I mighta done you and yours by stickin up for him. Clearly it wasn't my place. The reason I called was to deliver the information of my return date, but like I said, I hope to Hell he goes back sooner. He deserves a whole lot better for himself."

Castiel wanted more than anything to hear Dean's voice, to let that low rumble roll over him. It had been so long since he had and he craved it. Rather than try for the phone again, Castiel remained seated, his hands in his lap, his face towards the floor. "Yes he most certainly does," Michael spit out, "And I hope he learns that soon. Thank you for relaying the information. We greatly appreciate it." Michael did not wait for a response before hanging up the phone. He placed it back in the cradle, but afterwards was completely silent. Castiel raised his head, looking around trying to catch a noise. "The delinquent won't be returning until the second of January, so you will be going back to school on Monday. Enough of this foolishness Castiel." Castiel turned his face towards where Michael stood, shaking his head slightly. "I won't," he declared, his voice meek and shy. Suddenly, a hand was slapped on the table next to him. Castiel flinched away from the noise, not having heard Michael move. "I have indulged you plenty already, now you will do what I say or you will regret it," Michael growled, his face inches from Castiel's. "Not as much as I regret the power that's gone to your head," the younger whispered. A crack rang throughout the kitchen as Michael hit Castiel across the face with enough force to send him out of the chair. "You are going to school and that's final," Michael said, his voice even as if nothing had happened. "Y-Yes sir," Castiel whimpered, his voice cracking over the words. Michael left the room, Castiel still slumped on the floor.

Standing slowly, his face throbbing, Castiel made his way over to the phone cradle. He picked it up, quickly shoving it as far as it would go inside his pants pocket. Making his way towards the stairs, Castiel tried to act as normal as he could as he went up to his room. He closed the door quietly behind him. Taking the phone out of his pocket, he felt over the buttons. This was a regular phone, but Gabriel had explained the layout for it once, for emergencies. If he remembered correctly, the call history button was at the top, and if he pushed select it would call Dean's number. He pushed the button and brought the phone to his ear, listening as it began to ring.

His cell phone was sitting on the dresser in his cramped bedroom. Now Dean stripped out of the grey trousers, carefully hung up the suit and tie, and pulled on some flannel bottoms. He had no need to be dressed properly for Sam; the rest of the night would be spent watching his little brother do homework, cooking, and maybe watching some tv. The apartment was dirty, but he planned to spend tomorrow cleaning before he went into the auto shop. Tonight would be relaxing. Or so he hoped.

As he pulled the long-sleeve thermal over his head-- to spare himself and Sam the torture of seeing his scars-- he heard the phone buzzing. It could only be his brother or father, he assumed, and hastily lunged across the room and grabbed it. It was neither of his family members, but rather, the Novak residence number. Maybe the brother was calling back to rip him a new asshole. 

With a sigh, as if this was wasting his precious time, he said, "Hello?" 

"D-Dean?" Castiel said, despite the fact that he knew it could only be him on the other end. Even through a grainy phone, that could only be Dean's voice. "I'm s-sorry, I know I'm probably b-bothering you," Castiel paused, trying to stop the waver in his voice, "I just... I had wanted t-to speak with you before." He didn't know what else to say. Castiel had called the other boy purely to listen to his voice, to let it relax him. It had been a week since he'd heard it, and would likely be much longer after today, and Castiel was greedy. He wanted to hear as much of it as he could.

Castiel when over to his bed to sit down, wanting to have a place to shove the phone if Michael came in. Castiel's face was still aching, and he didn't want a repeat performance. He felt bad that he was making his brother act this way. He knew that when Gabriel and Raphael saw what happened, the former at the very least would rip his brother a new one. Well, he hoped.

Immediately upon hearing the quavering bird voice at the other end of the line, all hopes of keeping up his wall (and callous air) went out the window. He scrambled around for his pack of smokes, unable to handle the idea of Castiel upset or hurt, and nearly shouted, "You alright? What's wrong? Did he hurt you again?" 

The only evidence he had to support the notion that the eldest brother might physically beat the younger sometimes was that bruising upon his cheek last week. As well as his own personal experience. Dean understood what it was like when a parent (or in this case, a sibling/guardian) lost control over their subject. Oftentimes abuse that began as verbal would result in physical trauma. That was something Dean had learned the hard way with his own father.

Castiel was completely taken off guard by the blatant concern, his mouth open in surprise. Hearing that coming from Dean, it was enough to rip down any strength he had been using to keep the tears at bay. He felt them begin to slid down his face, stinging his eyes. "Yes," Castiel whispered, his voice watery. He hadn't wanted to tell Dean. He'd wanted to keep up the illusion that he was still strong. It had proved harder than he'd thought and he wasn't prepared for it. "I'll be going to school on Monday," was all he offered as ways of an explanation.

As sick as it made him feel, he was thankful Michael had hurt Castiel. Despite being forced into returning to school, it would be better for him in the long run. However angry or upset Castiel might have been, he would be engaging in his education. There was no reason for him to suffer the same losses Dean had brought upon himself. The only part the kid had in any of this was that he was blind; that was a faultless flaw.

He drew smoke in what he considered an adult manner, and exhaled through his nostrils. The eyebrow and nose rings had both ceased to swell, and were now healthy again. The cut on his cheek was written off by the officials at the meeting by an injury undergone in the fight. His eye had some bruising underneath it, but it looked far better than the rest of his body, which was still heavily marked from Dad's loaded pistol. 

"Good," was what he managed to say. "That's good, kid. 'Bout goin back to school. I'll see you some time in January."

That was the cue for them to get off the phone, that instinct to prop up the wall of deflecting emotions back again. His resolve to shake this boy and their encounters off was strong, but getting off the line with him didn't feel right. Not after Dean caught the sound of sniffles. 

"You cryin?" He took another pull, sat on the edge of his tiny twin mattress.

Castiel was surprised when Dean stayed on the line, his last words sounding like a goodbye. He was even more surprised when he inquired as to whether or not Castiel was crying. "It never used to be like this," he said quietly, doing his best to speak through his tears, "I remember in the beginning. Father would still send letters and call. Michael was my brother. We were all happy. Then Father stopped sometime around when I was six, and Michael changed. He wasn't my brother anymore." Castiel hiccuped slightly. He hadn't meant to dump all this on Dean. "I-I know y-you probably d-don't c-care," Castiel said, talking through the sobs building up in his throat becoming more difficult. "I'm s-sorry. I'm sorr--" Castiel's words dissolved into crying. He was unable to stop and felt extremely guilty for shoving this on Dean.

Dean was used to raising children; he already had one, what would one more hurt? Vaguely he wished he could go scoop Castiel up from the Novak residence, and shoot his own father in the head so it could just be him and the two boys. However, when he played that scenario out in his mind, the result was nil. He had to let go of the idea that he could save everyone. The cocaine made that difficult.

"Wait," he spoke slowly, his voice resounding in his own chest. Sixteen turning seventeen within the school year, his voice had changed immeasurably. "I don't know anythin about you, dude, I got no idea what you're talkin about. Where the fuck're your parents? And why the fuck are you apologizin? I'll care as much as you need me to care, 'n maybe then some. Ain't no bother to me. I'm just waitin on three o'clock to roll around so I can start dinner." He laughed and walked over to his bedroom window to toss the cigarette filter out. After that he lay on his bed, foot tapping incessantly.

Castiel calmed himself down slowly, listening to Dean's voice, barely even hearing his words. He took a deep breath, swallowing down his tears. "Mother died giving birth to me," Castiel said softly, "I think that's the first reason Michael dislikes me so much. Gabriel has told me how close Michael and our mother were. Not to mention I came out wrong. I wasn't worth the death of our mother." This was something that had been drilled into him in dark corners and late nights when none of them thought he was listening. "Our father, unable to handle it, had just picked up and left. Michael had been eighteen at the time, Raphael was twelve, and Gabriel was seven. He'd called at first. Sent letters. Let us know that he loved us. But sometime around my sixth birthday, we stopped getting calls and letters. I think Michael thought that was my fault as well. He stopped being an older brother. He started being some kind of prison warden." Castiel paused here, giving him a moment to collect himself. "I don't call him Michael anymore," he whispered, "I was told to call him 'sir'."

Laughter pealed up, and Dean was unable to stop himself from saying, "You sound like that imp from HBO. What's it called? Game of Thrones? Whatever, man, in all seriousness, that sucks. I'm sorry he's actin like an ass, but I can't disagree with him on the whole school thing. You pull off high school you can get a free ride into one of those fancy colleges for people with physical and learnin disabilities. Sam wants to get a scholarship, too, but I've already started collectin money from him. I don't work often, but I work hard. Eh, I'll probably drop out this year, anyway.. At least I'll have more time to take care of him and earn some bucks. Just a waste of space at school. At least you're a good boy." He laughed again.

The only conversations he ever had like this were with Sammy or Garth. He also talked a lot to Benny and Meg, but for different reasons. Those conversations were all centered around where the next hit was, or what convenience store they could get away with robbing for liquor and smokes. They also had a tendency to loot pharmacies for condoms and over the counter pills, but none of than information would be useful for Castiel. Instead Dean surprised himself with how natural this conversation between them seemed to flow. Though he could feel the coke high dwindling now. By the time Sammy got home he would be in full crash mode, and might have to drink or smoke a joint to ease his way back into reality.

In fact, maybe the only thing that cause this boy to seem so magnificent, rare, and attractive was the drug-goggles he constantly wore.

Anger bubbled inside Castiel. He couldn't understand why the other boy was so determined to give up on himself. "Now I don't know anything about your life at home, and I won't pretend that I do," he snapped, his voice low and angry, "But maybe if you'd sober up once in a while, you could see what you truly have to offer." He regretted the words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth, knowing that Dean wouldn't react well, but he pushed on anyway. "You're always so worried about everyone around you but you refuse to worry about yourself or let anyone else do it." Castiel knew that if anything was going to push Dean away, it was this, but he couldn't stop. "You sacrifice for others and you believe that you deserve it. You're willing to give up any chance you have at a future to let your brother have one instead. You make jokes and you brush it off, but the bottom line is, you don't think you deserve to be saved." Castiel paused listening to the quiet on the other end of the line. "I'm sorry for saying it like that. I'm sorry that you've decided we can't be friends." Castiel hung up, too cowardly to wait for Dean to respond. He shoved the phone under his pillow and laid down, letting the memory of Dean's voice lull him to sleep.

You don't fuckin know me! He wanted to call back and shout. Whatever fuckin assjunkie you heard that rumor from, they don't know what the Hell they're sayin! Are you too fuckin dumb not to believe every goddamn thing you hear in the hallways!? The response would be wasted now. Perhaps he would get a chance to speak his mind the next time he saw the boy. Although, he suspected with anger furling his gut, by January the whole thing would seem irrelevant.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean would never leave Sam unattended at the house to go to a party, but for the next few days he proceeded to get as inebriated as possible within the confinements of his house and his job. The blissful state of oblivion didn't last long, however. He lacked the supplies to put himself into a blackout, and what little he had ran out, leaving him irritable and starving-- literally. His appetite was next to nothing on drugs, yet completely disappeared when experiencing whatever withdraw he had. Of course, he denied that the drugs had any effect on him whatsoever. In fact, he felt that because he could go off of them without any physical effects (only psychological effects such as not eating and sleeping, as well as the mood swings) was a sign that he was not in any way dependent upon them. Rather, he considered himself just another run-down teenager. His friends proved to him that he was not nearly the only one in this position.

Their father returned several days later, and by that time the mood swings had dissipated, and Dean was able to put down some food and crack a few jokes with Sam and the guys at work. John listened impatiently through the story of Dean's hearing and imminent suspension, and decided ignoring him completely would be the best treatment. There were times like these, when Dad would fawn over Sam and pretend to be father of the year. Dean couldn't tell if it was to snub him, or if it was some unconscious thing he didn't catch himself doing. Either way, it hurt. 

That's why he felt no guilt when he slid out of the house some Friday night, and into Benny's truck. Garth was already at Meg's house; contrary to his farm-boy appearance, he could party like the best of them, and was no less a wreck on the inside. Dean was wearing skin-tight black jeans, torn at both knees and washed out. His shirts were sporadically layered, as was his jewelry. The make-up around his eyes was black and shimmery. His half-black, half-sandy hair was tousled with mousse (he planned on impressing a few people tonight), and his lips were coated in a sugary gloss. While riding over, Benny let him snort a rail of crushed Adderall off the hatch between the two front seats. That allowed Dean to uncurl-- soon enough he was talking, singing along to the loud metal music that played, and smoking cigarettes like breathing air. 

They pulled up outside Meg's house soon enough-- her mother usually left and spent the weekend with some shady boyfriend, so the little two-story cottage was more than enough for ten or fifteen drug-addled teens to trash. There was no reason for Dean to act more masculine than he felt, which tonight was very little, and instead he took to flitting about and hugging everybody Meg had invited over. The smile on his face was as big as ever, and for the first time in weeks he felt like Castiel was no longer a familiar stuck to his side, but a distant and fleeting memory. Just somebody that he used to know. 

According to Gabriel, half of Castiel's face had gone dark purple by Monday, not the light bruising left behind before. Castiel couldn't even smile. Not that he had any reason so. Dean wasn't there. There was no smell of rain behind him in the halls, no smooth laughter, nothing. He was listless, going to class only because he had to. Michael had made that clear. He had already handed in all the assignments he'd missed, receiving full marks on all of them, though he shouldn't have. He knew it was because the teachers felt guilty. All in all, he just went back to being Castiel. Good student, obedient brother, well-behaved child. It left him feeling empty inside.

It didn't help that now he was getting more shit than he ever had before. He didn't know if it was because Dean was no longer around, or if it was because Dean had protected him in the first place, but his peers had gotten much more bold. They took his glasses on a near daily basis now, flushing them down the toilets, leaving them on high book shelves, doing whatever they could to make it so Castiel couldn't find them. They started shoving him in the hallways, making him lose his balance. His hip was still bruised from the rather large boy that had slammed his side into the lockers. On one memorable occasion, someone had stolen his cane while he was walking, leaving him stranded in the middle of the hallway for an entire period until a teacher came to return it to him. But he never once complained. It wouldn't change anything if he did.

Now it was Friday after possibly the worst week of Castiel's entire life. Gabriel knew something was wrong, but Castiel refused to tell him, acting as though everything was the same. The bruises on his face had faded away to a mottled yellow by now, and Michael treated him the same as he did before the whole situation with Dean had occurred. As much as Castiel wanted to speak out, he was too afraid. Not to mention there was no point anymore. Dean had made it clear in almost every conversation they had that he wanted nothing to do with Castiel. As much as that hurt him, he wasn't going to bother the older boy anymore. Not unless something happened that Castiel couldn't ignore. 

He stood outside, waiting for the special bus to come pick him up when he felt disgustingly sweaty hands wrap around him from behind, a sour smell filling his nose as a voice spoke in his ear. "Hey baby, you can't see but I'm sure you can feel nice and good, can't ya?" Castiel struggled, trying to push the other boy away from him. "Let go of me!" he shouted, hoping someone would hear and look over. "Don't be like that baby," the unnamed voice whispered, "I'm sure we can have fun." The boy's hands starting wandering, and Castiel hit and kicked as hard as he could. From somewhere off to his right someone called out, "Yo, bus driver!" and the boy let go, Castiel falling to the ground from lack of balance. Nothing like that had ever happened before and it terrified Castiel that it would happen again.

The bus dropped him at home, Raphael waiting at the curb to help him inside. Castiel stayed quiet, as was his default around most of his brothers these days. Once Castiel was in the house, he disappeared into his room. Sitting on his bed, Castiel wrapped his arms around his knees and held them to his chest, comforted by the memory of a voice telling him it wasn't his fault.

Being naughty and defiant-- as well as eight shots of Kentucky bourbon deep-- he changed the song on the iPod from some chill hipster track to an upbeat R&B song, "Blurred Lines". It wasn't often that he listened to music at all, because he was often busy caring for his brother or forgetting himself. When he did listen, his taste was wide. Generally his narrow-minded friends were surprised by it. He could go from listening to some sort of instrumental folk music to punk or hip hop. Keeping in line with that, he had been enjoying Benny as the DJ up until one song threatened to make him a little sad. What was it, Mumford and Sons? I'm a hopeless wanderer... That's when he had trotted over.

Benny was on him in a second. He grabbed Dean by the shoulders and shoved him from the stereo in a playful manner that sent the other spinning backwards. The guy dressed like a prep, had muscles like a bear and height as well. But his eyes were soft flecks of blue ice, his cheeks retaining a sun-kissed appearance despite it being Thanksgiving next week. "Ya'll know I hate bubbly tracks like these," he smiled, "Why you gotta kill me , Dean?" 

Dean was already across the living room dancing. His black jeans slid down against his hipbones, and the little bulge of his oblique muscles (as thin as he was, he had a decent amount of muscle on him from working at the stop). The skin was exposed in part-- under the unbuttoned flannel and the pink-dyed studded denim vest was a handmade tank top. It was a cutoff band tee-shirt that he had sewed a few labels on. When he got it he was about Sam's age, and the shirt still fit him more or less the same, with the exception of hugging his chest and sides. That didn't bother him any, especially not when he was drunk and high. He liked the looks he was getting. 

His intentions were to mess around with someone tonight, though he hadn't decided whether that would be a boy or girl. He knew he would enjoy fooling around with Benny if the chance ever came, but it seemed unlikely the southern-born senior swung that way.

Meg was clapping along to the beat, though she remained seated on the dirty couch. She, Garth and a few others were playing a drinking game around the slimy coffee table, and a few others yet were smoking a blunt in the adjacent kitchen. While singing the chorus, Dean bopped over to the group-- three boys and two girls-- and took a giant hit. Nights like these were his favorite, when he could be all over the place, be the child he was inside, forget he ever had responsibilities. 

This went on for hours, it seemed, until some guy showed up that changed the whole game. Sebastian, who looked and sounded like a UK model, was dressed in a scoop-neck tee and tight leather pants. His shoes were neon green reptile skin and his jewelry bright purple and gold. His blonde hair was styled in an impeccable pompadour, while his smile lit the room without effort. In his hand he shook a large prescription bottle of what he claimed to be triples.

Dean had taken X before, but never at Meg's house. At first he was a bit cautious, but when Garth gave him that incredibly stupid smile, he knew it was all going to be alright. Several kids, some younger than him and some college aged, gravitated to the table where Sebastian exchanged money or drugs for his own tiny colored gems. "Candy," he claimed, "I was just in New York today-- we're already off for break." He was a college student, then, and from the city. No wonder Dean hadn't met him yet. As he set the pill on his tongue (it was rumoured that to let it dissolve would yield better result) he locked eyes with Sebastian, who winked luxuriously at him. 

A half our later he was breaking a sweat, gyrating with Sebastian pressed up against him to some erratic track by Iconapop. The cotton of Sebastian's shirt and the moisture of his skin felt incredible, his eyes shone like diamonds in his cheerful face. They danced back to front, front to front and swapped positions until they both needed to cool down with some water. Meg had laid out a bunch of plastic cups-- instead of drinking water, Dean drank alcohol. He didn't care that Sebastian marked that as a dangerous move. This was fun, and he had a feeling this guy was going to be it.

He was right.

The sex lasted far longer than it would have off the drugs, and it felt like more than any cliche metaphor could capture. By the time they had finished it was nearly six in the morning, and Dean hardly recollected what his name was, let alone where he would need to be in a few hours. The two escaped the hot, smoke-filled house to share cigarettes out back. Hand in hand they watched the sun rise over Meg's overgrown-- though brittle and wilted-- yard. They laughed and talked about countless topics, and Dean disclosed things to Sebastian he would never in his right mind tell anyone. He learned a lot about the twenty year old, who had fucked him so hard he might not be able to walk later in the day. 

Their parting was melancholy, but Benny had woken around eight and knew Dean needed to be at work. "Let's go, fresh face. Yer daddy ain't gon be happy with yer appearance, 'n I don't wanna be involved." 

Thankfully his daddy was still asleep. Dean tried to put himself to sleep for a few hours-- his shift wasn't until noon-- but to no avail. Instead he showered for an hour and a half, relishing in the patter of hot water on his skin. He nearly came again just from cleaning himself, that's how strong the E was. After that he sat naked on his bed and played his guitar, singing along softly in his raspy voice, until it was time to get dressed and take the bus.

Castiel didn't sleep that night. He couldn't. He stayed up, laying in his bed until he could hear the birds begin to chirp outside his window. He continued to lay there, feeling sick inside. He didn't want to go to school anymore. He considered telling Gabriel about his problem, but at the same time he couldn't shake the feeling that it was somehow because of him that this was happening. Maybe if he hadn't stayed home for that week, people wouldn't have put two and two together. Maybe this was because of him. Castiel knew that Michael would still be asleep for another hour at least, as would Raphael and Gabriel. He pushed his covers away, walking slowly over to his dresser. He pulled out the first shirt he felt and a pair of jeans. He wiggled into his clothes, feeling around his desk until he grabbed hold of his glasses and his folded up cane. He went over to his bookshelf, feeling the spines until he found the book he was looking for. Opening it up, he felt in the hollowed out compartment, taking out all the money he found inside. He shoved it into his pocket and grabbed his phone from inside his bag. Stumbling down the stairs as quickly and as quietly as he could, Castiel opened the front door, pausing for a moment before closing it behind him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was cool outside, the sun hadn't risen yet. He unfolded his cane, tapping down his front walk and down the street. He waited until he was at the street corner before pulling out his phone, hitting the zero for the operator. "Hello," he said quietly when he heard a voice on the other end, "Can you connect me to a number for a car service please?" The operator patched him through and he asked for a car to be sent to the corner of Enochian St. and he gave them his name. He waited for about five minutes before he heard a car pull up. "Castiel Novak?" a deep voice said. Castiel nodded, "Yes, that's me. If you wouldn't mind helping me into the car?" Castiel heard the car doors open and felt a hesitant hand on his elbow, leading him towards it. Once Castiel was settled in the backseat, the driver returned to his own place behind the wheel. "Where to?" he asked. He hadn't known when he came out that the customer was this young or blind. He was probably a very obvious runaway. He could simply drive around the block a few times before dropping him back at his home and he would never know. "Take me to the train station please," Castiel said, his voice soft. The driver sighed, and began his way to the train station. 

Castiel paid the driver when he got there, but rather than the man driving off, he stayed. He followed the boy, a good distance behind, worried about leaving him here alone. Castiel tapped through the train station, asking for directions to the ticket booth. He purchased the least expensive ticket he could, from here to Massachusetts. He'd heard about a great school for the blind there. Maybe life would be better if he was around more people like himself. The driver followed behind him, explaining to the security guards what was happening after they tried to chase him down for hopping over the barriers. Castiel's heart was beating in his chest, actually obscenely nervous. He'd never been somewhere this busy without someone with him. His train didn't leave for a couple of hours so he settled down in the first chair he felt, not knowing that his driver stood across the way, watching him. He had no idea who to call for this kid or anything, so he simply stood watch.

A few hours later, Castiel got up, asking someone directions for the mens room. He didn't use public bathrooms often, never quite getting the hang of it, but he had little choice right now. He tapped his way in, not knowing that eyes followed him as he did. Not the kind eyes of the driver, but hungry eyes of a stranger. He was thin, dirty, clothes ripped and eyes bloodshot. He followed Castiel into the bathroom, slipping in right before the door closed so the young boy had no idea that someone was in the room with him. Castiel found his way into a stall and tried to pull the door closed behind him only to have it stopped by a body. "Hello there cutie," the man rasped out. Castiel stumbled back, bumping into the toilet behind him. "Please leave me alone," Castiel tried, fear shooting through him like fire. "You're too pretty to be here all by yourself," the man said, coming closer as he reached out, grabbing Castiel by the arm. "Please don't," Castiel tried, his eyes filling with tears as he struggled. The man only held him tighter.

The driver had seen Castiel go to the bathroom and had decided to wait for him to come out, not noticing that someone had followed him in. However, this seemed too long for a bathroom trip, blind or not. He walked into the bathroom, calling out the boy's name to hear whimpering and struggling coming from one of the stalls. The driver ripped the door open, tearing the raggedy man off the young boy, knocking him out against the floor. Castiel was shaking and sobbing, curled in on himself on the floor of the stall. "This is the man who drove you here," he said quietly, "I'm here to help you. Is there somewhere I can take you to get help?" Just then the noon bell rang. Castiel said up slowly, still shaking. He didn't want to go home. "T-Take me to Singer's Salvage Yard please," he whispered. The man helped him back to the car and drove him there, taking him through the front door where he saw an older man with a beard behind the counter. "This young man asked to be taken here," he said, "I don't know why, but I brought him." Castiel looked up slowly, his glasses long since broken and in his pocket. "I-Is Dean here?" 

Thank God Meg had tossed him a gram of coke before he left her house that morning. Dean was dehydrated, still a little drunk and very high. The E and uppers had consigned him to a mood unlike most. He was volatile, highly volatile, though to untrained eyes he appeared completely normal. His voice was a bit more hoarse than usual from screaming and smoking all night. Other than that, the smudged makeup on his face spoke only small measures about what he had been through. Everything else was covered by dirty, baggy clothing for his work at the shop.

Bobby took one look at him and quipped, "Jesus, boy! One more a these all night bender's 'n I'll be legally obligated to notify... Hell, somebody oughta know about it! 'n I don't like bein the only adult who knows what's really goin on in you're life!" He shook his head as Dean bent over in hysterical laughter. Then the older man ushered him inside the garage and set him to work on an oil change-- easy enough for a kid who had clearly been partying hard all night.

It was some time later Dean felt himself crashing again, and hard. He slipped into the thumbnail-sized bathroom and blew the rest of that gram, not really enough to lift him from his mood. Hopefully he would make it through the shift; then he could go home, eat and sleep. Not like his father would be too supportive of that. He might have a million other chores for the boy to do upon arriving. Or he might not even be there, gone again on one of his strange jobs.

"Dean?," he heard Bobby's voice calling for him. "Dean, you got a visiter... that kid from th'other day?" 

He slammed and tumbled out of the bathroom, sniffled and rubbed his dark eyes. Bobby sighed heavily, saddened to a degree by this desecration of this beautiful boy. "He's out front."

Dean nodded obligingly and hurried out of the brick building, gravel crunching under his too-large boots. A terrifying sight met him, and he immediately felt the need to vomit. He swallowed hard to hold it in and stood completely silent for a drawn moment. Castiel looked like he hadn't slept his days-- but worse yet, he looked scared. Not in the way he had that day Dean purposely dug at him. This was different, this was bone-chilling, trauma scared. He had seen the same look on Sam's face the time that Dad shot Dean through the shoulder when he was ten. Sammy was only six at that time, and had never seen his father abuse his big brother before. That same look of terror was fresh on Castiel's face, but what was the reason? The last Dean knew the kid was safe and sound, with his brothers and attending school every day. They hadn't spoken in well over a week and this surprise appearance threw a major wrench in all of Dean's petty plans. Selfishly he had forgotten about the boy. In truth, the entire time at the party, the entire past four days he had thought naught of the boy. Yet suddenly facing him, reality hit. 

There was a slight tremor in his hands. His cane scribbled in the dust, and Dean couldn't decide if it was because of the cold-- Castiel was underdressed, as usual-- or because of whatever happened. His eyes, aside from seeming completely fearful and worn, looked slightly red-rimmed... From crying? Was this something Dean really wanted to involve himself in? Suddenly he wished that he had never brought the boy his glasses, or taken on those assholes at school. It had been revealed all too soon that both Castiel and Dean had been watching each other, but now Dean was certain he didn't want that sort of tie. Castiel was right, Dean was a disaster, unwilling to accept help himself. It wasn't fair to try and help a younger boy when he himself was worthless, and contemplating suicide more and more each day.

Shifting his weight made a slight noise, and he caught Castiel incline his chin towards to sound. His nethers hurt terribly from Sebastian's heavy thrusts, but the reminder only made him feel dirty now. It was time to call his choice. Either commit to this boy, which would inevitably open the doors to over-protection, obsession, more harm and swelling vulnerability, or discard him for good.

Maybe he would hear him out first. 

"Dammit, I thought I got rid a you." In a smooth motion he took Castiel's cane from his hands, folded and stashed it in his own pocket. Then he took his friend-- ha, friend?-- by the hand and led him gingerly around to the side of the building. There was a stack of tires there, and it was a more private space to talk. He eased Castiel down onto the tires, supporting his body weight until he was stable (yes, a hand brushed against his spine and even his side... the boy was exactly as bird-thin as he seemed). 

In contrast to the kindness of his touch, his voice was strained, laced with anger and fear of his own. "Why are you here?"

Castiel stood shaking as he waited, unable to will the tremors from his body. The man behind the counter, Bobby, had promised to go and get Dean, and his driving savior had parted after ensuring that Castiel was safe. The air was still cold, his coat having been abandoned back in the train station bathroom. He turned his head slightly when he heard the shuffling of gravel, immeasurable fear shooting through him for a moment. Then he heard Dean's voice. That voice that never failed to calm him down. That smooth rumble that made Castiel believe that everything would be alright, no matter what it was saying. He felt his cane get taken from his hand, and heard it being folded up quickly. In the next moment, a hand was wrapped around his own, leading him somewhere else. He felt hands ghosting over his back, his sides and reveled in the kind touch. He was sat down on what felt like tires and immediately scooted back, bringing his knees to his chest in a defense way. 

"I don't know," he whispered, voice still shaking, "I didn't know where else to go. I know you don't want to see me and you probably hate me after what I said. I understand that you don't want me in your life, but I didn't want my brothers to see me." Castiel stayed quiet, neither boy saying anything. He wasn't sure if he actually wanted to tell Dean what happened. If he let Dean in like that again, only to be shut down or laughed at, Castiel wasn't sure he'd be able to come back from that. Not again. It felt like a century before Castiel spoke again, his face turned away where he knew Dean wasn't standing. "I tried to leave," he began quietly, "Things had gotten worse at school. I was being pushed into lockers, my glasses being shoved into toilets, people... t-touching me." The way he said it left no room for argument about how people had been touching him. Castiel had to stop here, taking a breath before he continued. "I thought I could handle it, but I couldn't and I didn't want to stay. So this morning I got up before anyone else did. I got all the money I had and I got a car service to take me to the train station. There's a school, up in Massachusetts for people like me. I figured if I was around people who were the same as me, I wouldn't have anymore problems." Castiel didn't know how to keep going. Tears burned the corners of his eyes and he wiped them away quickly, not wanting Dean to see him cry. He went on, his voice barely more than a whisper. "A man followed me to the bathroom. He... he attacked me. I wasn't strong enough to fight him. He... he tried to..." Castiel let it hang, unable to say the words out loud. "The man who had driven me had stayed to make sure I was alright and when I didn't come out of the bathroom, he came to find me. He got rid of the man and brought me here because I didn't know where else to go. I know you probably don't care, but Dean, I was so scared Dean." Now he did cry, tears silently streaming down his face as he buried his face in his knees.

He remained silent for so long that it was a wonder Castiel didn't call out to see if he had been abandoned. His hands ran anxiously through his hair, and the sight of the kid crying only made him more nauseous. Everything he had said was something Dean had feared might happen, though it hadn't dawned on him until now. Of course he would be treated worse at school. Mostly every one in the building hated Dean, aside from the few shitty friends he had. It only made sense that they would torture someone they thought he cared about. Especially without him there. At this point Dean had half a mind to snatch one of his father's guns for the day, ransack the school and shoot as many bullies as he could. 

"You know," he spoke finally, keeping his distance from the boy. If he stood any closer he might reach out and touch him. The mood swings made him irrational, and he hadn't slept or eaten in over twenty-four hours. Everything was spinning, more or less. Though he enjoyed the faint feeling. It reminded him he was as worthless as he felt and treated himself. "You're probably right about the school... I mean, it ain't gonna solve all your problems, but a place where you can be taught and surrounded by other blind people... that don't sound too bad. Based on what you've said about Michael, I'm surprised he hasn't tried sendin you there already. It'd get you outta his hair, at least." He laughed at that last bit, as if it were a wildly funny joke. The peal died as quickly as it had started, a sure sign of the crash.

"I can't help you." He had made his call, it seemed, and laughed again like a defenseless child. "I mean, I want to help you, I wanna be your knight in shining armor or whatever you called me that first day we met, but you're right. I was thinkin bout that, actually. How right you were. About me not wantin help. 'n how can I help you if I can't help myself? Takin care of Sammy's enough, 'n I ... To be honest, every one I get close to gets worse. So I don't think you bein here's a good idea. I think you should go home, talk to your brothers about this new school and just... forget about shit."

Yes, he had decided. He would bring the gun into the school. Nobody would suspect that his first day back would be his last. He wanted desperately to reach out and caress the boy, as he had Sebastian last night. Castiel seemed fine. There were no obvious bruises or welts. However, Dean knew that most damage could be hidden.

Castiel had been half convinced that Dean had walked away before he started speaking. In just over one hundred words, he had basically completely shut Castiel down. It was kinder than some of the other times they had spoken, but a dismissal all the same. Castiel felt himself breaking apart inside, but nothing killed him like Dean telling him to forget. Telling him to forget the only person who had ever been kind to him. Telling him to forget the voice the could comfort him in some of the darkest times he'd ever experienced, telling him to forget the first person he had ever truly made an effort in connecting with. Castiel felt the words leave his mouth without his permission, "If that's what you want." He could hear how wrecked his voice was, and he hated himself for it. He hated how easily Dean could hear how he'd torn him apart. 

Castiel didn't want to stay another second. He didn't care that he had no idea how to get home. He didn't care that he didn't have his cane or his glasses, or any money left. He didn't care. Tears stung his eyes as he slid off the tires, walking in what he believed to be the right direction to get back to the front. He tripped over something, he had no idea what, and went sprawling. His hands and knees became full of cuts, his pants ripped. He stood as quickly as he could, not wanting Dean to try and help him up. He kept walking having no idea where he was going or what direction he was going in. He fell over three more times, getting up just as quickly as the last time. He heard more people as he got closer to wherever he was walking. He heard someone shout in warning and heard the blare of a horn before he felt and immense weight on his side. He felt himself up in the air, tumbling over himself, limbs flailing. All he remembered was white-hot pain before he blacked out. 

The response he got from Castiel sounded weak, meek and tattered. It was similar to how he sounded that first time on the phone when the boy had admitted to Dean his brother hit him. This was worse, though, because Dean was the cause. Guilt sent a pang of pain through him, tightening his stomach further. It was't fair-- he was trying to protect the babe, not hurt him more. 

After he watched Castiel fall once or twice, nearly running to get away, Dean turned back inside and called out to Bobby, "Gimme a couple more minutes with this kid, alright? He's run off and I got his cane. I'm gonna go give it back to hi--" 

The screech of tires, the sound of several horns and a few chaotic shouts sent him reeling. Bobby tossed him a look that said go, ya dumbass, and Dean sprinted out of the garage. Down the street there was a red light, which he assumed had been green moments ago. Blood spattered the road and Dean panicked, screaming his name out again and again. He pushed violently through the throng of people, whipping a few with the cane as he passed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel lie stark still in the middle of everything. It was obvious one of his arms was broken, and there was a gash on his precious head. Dean's knees hit the pavement when he saw the boy's blue eyes vacantly staring upward. Either he was dead or conscious-- there was only one answer Dean wanted. He took the boys hair in his palm tightly and screamed into his stupid blind face. When he got a slight response he sighed with relief, though the sight of blood jarred him still. 

He began screaming at the people surrounding them, "Somebody call a friggen ambulance--- no, don't you fuckin try to move him, what are you, 'n idiot? You don't -- DON'T TOUCH HIM." 

The crowd began to disperse, though the man who had called the ambulance and the people in the dented car remained. One was waving traffic around the scene. This wasn't a busy road, but a bit of traffic built up as they waited. Dean hated the way people rubber-necked to see the injured kid. He had heard or read somewhere that when you moved an injured person, you could make them worse. That's why he had chased everyone away. 

At some point he realized his fingers were laced through the pale ones, his other hand busy holding a rag someone had given him against the gash on his scalp. "I'm not gettin ridda you, am I?" His muttering was near incoherent, as he hunched over the body of this tragically beautiful bird. "Every time I try to get the point across to you, somethin happens 'n you need me... 'll, here I am." He laughed in a cracked way.

When the EMS arrived, Dean began to scream at them, too. Between no sleep, the crash from the drugs, hunger and the trauma of this event, he was completely deranged. There was absolutely no hiding it now, and his piercings and eye makeup only made it more obvious what a mess he was. They lifted Castiel on a gurney and strapped him in. He looked ten times smaller than he was, and whether or not that was a trick of Dean's eyes or not, it frightened him. They told Dean he couldn't ride in the ambulance with them but that only brought on a complete tantrum. He assaulted one of the EMT's, and it was then that he was put in a restrictive hold and hauled, panting, into the vehicle. 

They wouldn't allow him to touch Castiel, but by the time he had calmed down they released their hold and accepted the house phone number he provided them. Holding his breath he waited to hear how the news would be received. Maybe it was foolish for him to have gotten in the vehicle; if he was sighted near Castiel the brothers would blame him for everything. And rightly so. 

Gabriel had woken up around eight or so to discover that Castiel was gone. He almost never got out of bed without someone coming to get him first so he could be sure it was actually morning. After checking the entire house twice, plus the yard and the garage, Gabriel went to tell Michael and Raphael. The two elders' masks broke for what had to be the first time in ten years. Raphael looked incomparably worried and Michael looked practically horrified. "Gabriel, you stay at the house," he said, standing and grabbing his keys, "Raphael and I will look around the neighborhood to start with. If we don't find him, we'll call the police." Both brothers nodded. Gabriel continued to check the house while they were gone, half convinced that Castiel was hiding in a closet or something.

Raphael and Michael didn't return until a little after midday. Gabriel was nearly pulling his hair out, already outside by the time both cars pulled up. When neither one emerged with Castiel in tow, Gabriel's heart sank even further. Where would he go? He doesn't know how to get anywhere. Anything could have happened to him. The three brothers went back inside, a defeated air around all of them. "How far did you go?" Gabriel asked. "I went to the east side of town and back," Raphael said. "I went to the north end and the south," Michael answered as well. Gabriel's face fell. They'd gone basically everywhere. "So I guess we need to report him missing then?" Gabriel asked, wanting his older brother to take command and tell him what to do for once. He felt so lost and useless. Michael nodded, hand reaching for the phone when it rang beneath his hand. He picked it up under a second, his voice slightly frantic. "Hello, Michael Novak speaking," he answered politely as he always did, "Yes, Castiel Novak is my brother. He... he what!? There's no... how would he... What hospital? Yes, we're on our way. If we wakes up, tell him we're coming." He hung up the phone, looking up at Raphael and Gabriel. "Castiel got hit by a car."

The ride to the hospital was one of the worst Gabriel ever experienced. The three of them took the largest car, Michael's Escalade. The entire car was dead silent. Gabriel could tell that each of them in turn was thinking that this was their fault. In a way, they all had taken a part in it. None of them had offered Castiel the support he'd needed, so he ran. Straight into a goddamn car. Gabriel rested his head in his hands, trying to convince himself that everything would be alright. His brother would live and everything would be fine. They parked haphazardly, running into the hospital at breakneck speed. They tore up to the front counter, asking for him, but the woman said he wasn't ready for visitors yet and was in critical condition. Michael and Raphael stood and argued with the woman, but Gabriel turned, leaning his back on the counter. Then he saw him. The Winchester boy, standing there in the waiting room. The boy that had punched his way into their lives and taken Castiel off the safe path that he'd been on. Gabriel was across the room in a second, picking Dean up by his shirt and shoving him into the nearest wall. "Why are you here? What did you do to my brother? What happened to him?" he snarled, his face violent.

They were separated at the door, and by that time Castiel had slipped into an unconscious state, his blue eyes shut to the world. Dean was forced into a sterile white and pink room for psychiatric evaluation. The man who came in, broad shouldered and dark skinned, asked him a laundry list of items. Where do you attend school? Would you say you have frequent mood swings? Are you feeling like you might hurt yourself right now? What is the best contact number for your family? 

In the end he gave the man Bobby's number, instead of his father's. It couldn't even be counted on that he was home, and he seldom used Dad's cell phone number for anything. Bobby picked up on the fourth ring. "Singer's Salvage... Yep, yep that's my... nephew, yea. Dad's outta town on business..." In an unspoken agreement he unfolded a story so brilliant that the psychiatrist released Dean on the premise that he was emotionally wrecked for the moment (trauma; precipitative depression), and would spend the night under Bobby's watch. The man said he would be there to pick his nephew up after his shift at work, which left the boy plenty of time to worry in the waiting room. 

Hours passed, or so it seemed, and the grating sound of the television and the baby crying never ceased. His hair was a mess from running his hands through it, his piercings irritated and a bit swollen from the dehydration and lack of rest. I never meant for it to feel like this. For either of us. It wasn't enough that every inch of him felt bruised, but Castiel was physically hurt, lying in a hospital bed somewhere beyond his reach. The depression sunk in, and though his body felt like lead, he couldn't sit. He paced, asking himself painful questions about his stupidity and self-worth. The line that always repeated in his head was delivered by his father, when he was very young. The very touch of you corrupts, Dean. You're lucky I trust you with your brother's life, but even that's hard for me!

There was a rush of footfalls at the door and three men-- two large and one short-- rushed up to the reception desk. The shorter one looked familiar, he had hazel eyes and shaggy hair. Before he could even mutter the guy's name he was being lifted off the floor by the collar of his disgusting uniform. Something was barked into his face and it took him moments to process. His body was truly weakening, he accepted and embraced it. There was no reason to fight. He deserved whatever was coming to him.

"I rode here with him so he wouldn't go it alone. I'm not sayin that redeems me," he puffed, "'cause I know it don't, but hey... It was the least I could do after ruining everything. Now I'm just waitin for my uncle. You wanna beat my ass, I get it. Honestly, I don't blame you... Go ahead, 'f you want. Otherwise, please just let me walk. I don't plan on talkin to him again, except to maybe just check 'n see if he's okay." The words pebbling out of his mouth must have sounded totally backwards. 

"Don't you dare say that," Gabriel yelled, dropping Dean to the floor, "My brother got hit by a goddamn car for you, and you're just gonna drop out of his life? Not on my watch, asshole. He fucking cares about you and you're gonna care back, so help me God." Gabriel crossed his arms, looking at the boy, a few inches taller than him. "Do you have any idea what you put him through? That week he went back to school? He didn't hear from you at all, and it broke him. You showed him kindness only to take it away and I'll be fucked by Satan's horns if I let you do it again." Castiel probably thought that none of them had noticed how listless and depressed he had been that week. Nearly on the edge of tears every time he came home. Gabriel had wanted to wait for his little brother to come to him, but clearly that had been the wrong choice. 

Castiel blinked his eyes open, immediately closing them again, shouting out in pain. His entire side hurt, every breath ached, his head hurt, and one of his arms felt seriously screwed up. He blinked his eyes open again, groaning. He heard muffled voices to his left and turned towards them. Slowly they became clearer. "Castiel," a pretty female voice called, "Castiel, can you hear me?" He nodded jerkily, even that small movement causing him pain. "Okay, honey. I just gave you some morphine, so it'll kick in soon. I'm just gonna ask you a few questions and then your family can come in and see you alright?" Her voice was too cheery, too bright, and Castiel just wanted to tell her to be quiet, but he nodded anyway. "Now these questions might sound silly, but you got yourself a pretty big bump on the head so we just gotta be sure." She went on to ask what his name was, his birthday, the date, what the last thing he remembered was, the names of his family, and so on. When she finished, she said the doctor would be in in a moment and after that he could be cleared for visitation. Castiel closed his eyes to wait.

Not even a minute later, Castiel's door was opened again. This time a heavy male voice spoke to him. "Castiel! Glad to see you're awake," he said, the smile clear in his voice. Castiel tried to offer him one back, but it hurt too much. "No need, you're in pain, you're allowed to look like it." Castiel would have chuckled if he wasn't afraid that it would hurt. "Now I'm not going to sugarcoat it for you. Three of your ribs are broken, but luckily no punctured organs. You're right arm is broken as well and we have to keep you under observation for a few days to make sure that bump on your head didn't lead to any internal bleeding or concussion, but it seems like you'll make a full recovery in a couple of months." Castiel muttered a thank you, slowly starting to feel the morphine kick in. He smiled slowly, his mind going a little goofy. "I'm going to let your family and such come now, alright?" Castiel nodded, a smile on his face. Maybe that nurse had used a little too much morphine.

Gabriel paced the waiting room, every second he had to stay in there another moment of agony. He refused to let Dean out of his sight. Gabriel knew that Castiel would want to hear him and that boy was getting away with letting Castiel hear his voice. Raphael sat in a chair, staring down at his hands while Michael stood at the counter, asking the woman every five minutes if they could go and see him yet. Gabriel looked over at Dean. The teenager looked a mess. Definitely not the kind of person he would like to have Castiel associating with, but looks could be deceiving. Maybe Dean was a better person on the inside. Or maybe Castiel could make him a better person. He seemed to have that effect on people. Suddenly a doctor strode into the room. "Castiel Novak?" he called out. Four heads shot in his direction. "He's ready for visitors now, if you'll follow me I can tell you the extent of his damage." The three brothers stood immediately, Gabriel stopping to tug Dean along before he followed the doctor. "Now, he has no punctured organs or internal bleeding that he can see, but we'd like to keep him under observation for a few days just to be sure, and to see that that bump on the head of his doesn't turn into something more serious. Along with that, three of his ribs were broken, along with his right arm. They were all clean breaks and will heal nicely in a few months. He's going to make a full recovery, though he'll need quite a lot of assistance seeing as he's going to have an even harder time getting around than usual," the doctor reported smoothly, leading the group down the hall. He gestured to a room, nodding his head. "He's waiting for you."

Heart beating painfully fast, he sucked in the sight of Castiel in his bed. His head and arm were wrapped, and it was clear from his shallow breathing that he was having rib troubles. For a moment he felt jealous of the morphine drip, then realized just how terribly he needed a cigarette. Even in moments like this he managed to be completely selfish. This is exactly what got you here, you fuck. Being selfish and...

Dean watched tentatively, completely silent at the back of the narrow room, as each brother greeted the boy in turn. He was conscious, but clearly dopey. Those big bird eyes looked dark blue at the moment, and heavy-lidded. Dean knew how it felt from having tried the stuff before. What a nice, cloudy feeling. And numb. Speaking of numb, when would Bobby be here to get him? There was only so long his body could handle the stress of this before collapsing entirely. In his head he kept willing himself to remain upright for another five minutes, so he could make it home and eat and sleep. He prayed to himself that his father was gone and only Sam was home, watching tv or reading.

It was obvious the brothers cared, even the huge one who he concluded was Michael. They were soft with him, and it was then Dean understood how unique their situation was. Parentless for various reasons, the band of brothers stood on their own in the world. Castiel was the baby, and regardless of whether or not he was responsible for his mother's death, he was their responsibility to raise. And born blind... If Dean had been in Michael's position, he would have used any means to control the boy as well. Not because the power would feel good, but Michael must have seen the power and control as necessary to protect and raise the blind bird. Somehow he had slipped through their fingers, run off and gotten himself pinned down... 

Lucky he had survived. Miracle boy. 

Maybe it was because he was too tired or too guilty, but he could shift foot, nor utter a word.

Castiel smiled at his brothers, his whole body feeling tingly. His words came out a little stuck together, a little slurred. He reassured that he was fine over and over, feeling their hands ghost over him, too scared to actually touch him. Castiel reached out, touching their faces one by one, recognizing the feel of their features. He couldn't help but laugh, though no one had made a joke. "You're one hard son of a bitch to take down, aren't you?" Gabriel said, squeezing his good hand lightly. Castiel could hear Michael hit him in reprimand and he laughed again, despite how his ribs protested. They all talked a few moments longer before Castiel finally asked the question on his clouded mind.

"Is... Is Dean here?" he asked quietly, nervously. The three brothers went silent for a moment before Gabriel threw him under the bus. "Yeah, he's here Cassie," he announced, turning to give Dean a meaningful look that said to get his ass over to the bed. "Don't call me that," Castiel slurred, still giggling a little. They had definitely given his small frame too much morphine. The room went silent again, no one having moved. "Dean?" Castiel called, his head turning slightly, waiting to hear a response. He could hear Gabriel ushering Michael and Raphael out of the room, much to their protest. The door squeaked shut and the room was silent again. "Dean, please answer me," Castiel called out.

As soon as he was alone in the room with Castiel he felt it. There was no name to put to the feeling, no way to describe it. Could have been a simple misfiring of all the different chemicals in his brain, could be that he was tired, could be that he was just a teenage boy and a complete mess. His throat tensed and his jaw ached. The tears didn't come, though. He was too well-trained for that. Thank whatever God there is, cause I am not cryin in front a this sonabitch. Not now. Not ever. 

He sidled toward the bet, tentative, as if afraid that the brothers would return and rip him away. In a noisy fashion he drew the nearest stool up to the edge of the bed, sat upon it, and cleared his throat. Would it be too much to hold Castiel's hand? Their fingers had been laced a few hours ago, but that was different. The boy had been potentially dying on the pavement at the expense of Dean's callous words. He had to remind himself, however much the notion failed him, that he was going on seventeen and this boy had just turned fourteen over the summer. There was nearly four years between them, and worlds of experience that separated them as humans. 

No, he did not hold Castiel's hand.

"That was really scary, Cas." This was the first time he had said the nickname aloud, though he had rolled it around in his head time and time again. Suddenly he had a flashback of Sebastian riding him sometime in the early morning. A cigarette would be really nice. Drawing himself back to the hospital room, and Castiel's cyanic eyes, he forced a laugh. "Your brother ripped me a new asshole in the waitin room. Tore me off the floor, I thought I was gonna get a smashdown. Told me that you care about me... which I believe, but I can't see the reason. 'n I know you've said that shit about seein me different, but you gotta understand... the shit I believe about myself, the crap I know to be true-- whether it is or not-- that's all I know, Cas. That's all I know, 'n when some tragic-faced kid walks in 'n tries to speak like the authority over my own actions 'n psyche, it's just... You're too much, you know that? You don't know me, you really don't. Whatever fuckin rumors you've heard in the hall, whatever you've pieced together... half of it ain't true, the other half's an exaggeration..." He paused to run his hand over his mouth in a dramatic way. The effect of his dark-rimmed green eyes was lost on the bedridden bird. 

"Gabriel said he's not gonna let me walk outta your life again cause you need me or whatever........ I don't believe that you need me, but if it's gonna help you heal I'll come visit e'ry now 'n then. At home or in the halls at school... At least til you get better. But you will be disappointed. You will be." He sniffled, though he hadn't been crying at all. That cigarette would be really nice, and a sandwich, too.

That's when Bobby called to tell him he was outside.

"I gotta go, Cas." He stood up from the stool, which screeched against the floor. "Sorry I talked so much, I just..." There was nothing else to say. Too afraid to touch him again for fear of how it might make him think or feel, he blew a silent kiss and turned to go.

Finally a noise rang out as Dean dragged a stool over to the side of Castiel's bed. He waited for a touch, a brush of skin, anything, but they remained painfully separated. Castiel was too afraid to reach out for Dean himself, and so remained where he was, letting Dean's voice wash over him. Even through the haze of morphine, Castiel could smell Dean's leather and rain scent, heard the low rumble in his voice and revel in their closeness. It scared Castiel, just how attached he'd become to this boy in such a short amount of time. it was downright terrifying. At the same time, Castiel knew that he wouldn't change it for the world. 

"Dean," he began quietly, "I see you differently because I can't see you. I don't have the luxury of judging a book by its cover, nor do I want it. I won't admit to knowing much about you, but I think I know enough. I'm not basing it off rumors I hear, I'm basing it off of my experiences with you. You drink and you smoke, among other things. I can smell it. You'd give up everything for your brother, and you fully plan on it. You don't have a great home life. That gash on your cheek wasn't from the fight and had to come from somewhere. All your life, you've been told what your worth is, and now you've come to believe it, but they've been telling you the wrong things. Someday, I'm going to make you see what I can see." He heard a phone ring and paused, moments later hearing Dean's goodbye as well as his departure from the room. Sighing, Castiel leaned back and listened as his brothers marched in soon after.

"How'd it go?" Gabriel asked, sitting down on the edge of Castiel's bed, running his hands through the younger's hair, carefully avoiding his injuries. "It could've gone better," Castiel admitted, "But he promised he'd visit." Gabriel hummed in approval, giving his brother a smile he couldn't see. Michael cleared his throat. "Now, I don't particularly want you associating with someone like that," he said, receiving two matching glares from Gabriel and Raphael, "So you whip him into shape and fix that boy up, alright Castiel?" Castiel smiled and nodded. He would make Dean understand what is true worth was if it killed him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bobby forced words out of Dean like pulling tonsils out with rusty pliers, no meds. By the end of the twenty minute car-ride he had more information than he even knew he needed. Everything from Sebastian to the look on Castiel's face before he ran off. Even the bit where John had given it to him more than once within the past year. He didn't know Dean's father well, although he had worked on his truck a few times, but he knew the boys. There had been a few times, after Mary died but before Dean was nine, when Bobby had watched the boys for a few days. That was how they had established a good bond. When Dean was fourteen, despite not having the legal documentation to work at that age, Bobby brought him into the shop, figuring it would be a good outlet for him. A hobby to learn about and potentially a career path, if all else failed. Of course, Bobby's efforts were in vain. Dean had still managed to find himself other hobbies, vices that were eating him up inside and out. But what could he do? He resolved to remain supportive.

The beating Dad delivered was one of his best, fists only, verbal and emotional taunting involved. Sam was at a friends house tonight, seeing as it was Saturday, so his father had every opportunity to pummel the teen into a pulp. When he was through, Dean was lying in a puddle of his own vomit, which wasn't much more than dark bile and blood. All thoughts of eating went out the window-- his torso had been barely bruised again, as had his throat. John had even left significant marking on his face, knowing it was safe from school officials. Bobby wouldn't report him, that was for certain.

Once he had crawled up into his bedroom, he shut the door and propped the window. Finally he had that long needed smoke. He smoked it long and slow, thinking of Castiel all the while. His phone buzzed during that time, and when he checked it he saw that it was a text from Sebastian. great night. lets do it again real soon xoxo He ignored the text and barely made it out of his uniform when he collapsed atop the covers.

The sound of John firing the shotgun in the backyard woke him. In a rush of loud noises and stunted motions, Dean picked himself up and leaned on the windowsill, sheets still wrapped about one leg. Dad was leaving again, though for how long he couldn't say. Dean looked at the old digital clock on his bed and saw that it was 9AM. Still three hours before his afternoon shift at work. Determined, he pulled on a different pair of pants, though the rest of his outfit remained what he had worn to work the day prior. He checked himself in the mirror and even went so far as to wash his face. Nothing else seemed necessary. On the way out the door he grabbed his wallet and a stale bagel from the breadbasket. It was better than nothing. 

He smoked his last cigarette as he walked from the bus stop to the hospital, amazed when he calculated that he had officially gone twelve hours drug and drink free. His head hurt, but that was normal after a beating from his father. At least he could walk without limping, and his piercings had remained in tact. The rest would not compare to the pain Castiel must be going through. 

For several minutes he stood there watching Castiel sleep. It was enough to give him that feeling again, almost as if he would cry or reach out and melt their skins together. Instead he came right up to the edge of the bed and leaned in. He was about to kiss the boy on the cheek when he reminded himself that was a horrible idea. Pulling back, he settled for a quip. He kind of actually felt a little happy.

"Morning, bird." 

His brothers had stayed long after visiting hours were over and Castiel finally had to convince them to go home, saying that there was no reason for them to sleep in the hospital. It had taken some serious coercing, and a few threats to call in a nurse, but Castiel got them all to leave with a promise to visit in the morning. Gabriel swore he'd sneak in some real food. They had left slowly, each one saying goodbye to Castiel. Michael had gone last, waiting until Raphael and Gabriel had left the room. He'd tried to tell Castiel how sorry he was. How it was his fault. How all he ever wanted was for Castiel to be safe. A few tears were shed, gentle hugs exchanged, but Castiel insisted that there was nothing to forgive. Though he didn't always understand why Michael did what he did, he could understand that it was meant for his benefit in the long run.

The morphine had long since cleared out of his head by the time they'd gone, leaving a dull ache behind that he figured would be fine since he would most likely be asleep soon. However, that wasn't the case. Castiel had lain awake for most of the night, replaying every moment he'd spent with Dean, since the first time they officially met. He still stuck by his belief that the other boy had so much more to offer if he was just given the chance. Sure he was rough around the edges, extremely so. He could be vindictive and mean when he chose to, but he could also be kind and gentle. His actions often didn't match his words, his touch being gentle while his words were harsh. He was confusing, but something about him made Castiel want to hold on tight and never let him go. 

Castiel wasn't sure what time it was when he finally nodded off, drifting in and out of sleep, never quite able to get comfortable. He was woken hourly to check his head injuries and always fell promptly back into dozing. He heard a nurse come in early, and roughly ten minutes later the pain went away, so he knew that he'd been given more morphine. It made it much easier to fall asleep then. His dreams were strange. Dark like always, but a mix of sounds that were hard to decipher. He could hear people shouting towards him, the blare of a car horn and screeching tires. He could hear Dean's voice, over and over, screaming at him. A warm hand entwined their fingers with his own. Castiel couldn't tell what had actually happened and what hadn't. Finally, all the other noises faded away, and just Dean's remained, the pressure light on his hand. Castiel slept soundly after that. 

Castiel had been woken up again around eight and had been assisted with eating his breakfast. He'd scowled through the whole thing, insisting that he was capable of feeding himself, but the nurse claimed it was merely protocol. After breakfast, he'd fallen asleep again, just barely drifting on the edge of consciousness. He heard Dean's voice again, but it sounded different from when it was in his dreams. Less echo behind it. Blinking his eyes open, Castiel could feel the presence of someone beside him. Rain and smoke. "Dean!" he said as excitedly as he could manage on all the drugs they'd shoved into him, "You came back!" Castiel couldn't stop the large smile that broke out over his face. He'd honestly been a little afraid that the other had been lying when he said he would visit. That was the last thing he wanted. But Dean was here, just like he said he'd be. 

Through his heavy lids, the boy looked up at him excitedly. It made Dean feel good, like this was really the right thing to do. It would take time to adjust to having a friend who wasn't a total disaster; having a friend like Castiel could be a duty, in a way. He was pleased with himself that he had come to the hospital without taking any drugs, though he knew as soon as he got out he would be at the store buying cigarettes and texting Garth. Even if he couldn't pick up his next hit before work, Garth or Benny would definitely drop him off whatever he wanted. Besides, he had already responded to Sebastian's text: agreed. let me know when you're back in the area. The spirit was strong within him.

"I figured I'd stop by now since I work later..." Dean began to talk comfortably, and the minutes passed quickly between them. Whenever he could elicit a slight smile or a flit of laughter from the boy, he felt proud of himself. Again, jealous of the morphine. He asked Castiel when he was returning to school, and if he felt scared. There was a plan formulating in the back of his mind, but he kept silent about it. There was no way to know if the plan could be executed. 

Finally he decided it was time for him to go, in order to get what he needed and get to work on time. "The stupid buses take forever," he lied. "I've gotta get goin now... I'll try comin back tomorrow, too... If you go home before I'm here you gotta let me know." He smiled. "Don't wanna show up here like an idiot askin for a boy that's gone." It felt weird to say goodbye to him, but there was something more pressing, calling Dean away from this precious creature.

Again he forced himself not to reach out and touch, and as he walked away he regretted the decision. Then, he supposed, if they were really meant to be in each other's lives, nothing would keep them separated for long. There would be time to feel Castiel's skin later... He hoped.

Castiel felt like he was floating the entire time Dean was there. If pressed, he probably couldn't even tell someone what they'd talked about, only that Dean's voice sounded unclouded and bright, healthier than usual. It made Castiel smile to hear it. One thing he did remember, painfully clearly was how Dean would remain just out of his reach. Castiel longed to truly confirm that the other boy was there, not just a morphine-induced figment of his imagination. However, Dean didn't touch him, or allow himself close enough to be touched. He was sad when the other boy had to leave, but wasn't going to ask him to stay. Castiel didn't want to get in the way of Dean's life anymore than he had already.

Moments after Dean was gone, Gabriel and his brothers marched into the room. "Were you all waiting outside?" Castiel accused, a small smile on his face. "You bet, little bro," Gabriel said, pulling a stool up next to Castiel's bed, a bag crinkling in his hands. Castiel could smell fresh cinnamon buns from the bakery on First St. that always added extra icing. The four brothers ate and for hours, no one of them leaving without ensuring that at least one person would be in the room with Castiel at all times. It was sweet, but a little smothering. It reminded Castiel of how they were when he was younger. Luckily, the doctor said that he could be released the day after tomorrow. He didn't want to keep everyone from their lives. 

The nurses began to wean him off the morphine drip after his initial morning dosage, prescribing doctor approved pain medication instead that Michael would regulate. A full body ache slowly inched its way in as the day went on until it became a regular presence in Castiel's mind. He began to slip into sleep, his brothers insisting that he should rest and that they would be there when he woke up. Castiel felt bad, since they had come to see him and it was only early afternoon, but he soon succumbed to sleep.

He got off the bus one street down from Garth's house. It was Sunday, just around noon, and he still had an hour plus until Bobby would be expecting him. Sam had texted him to say he was still enjoying time at his friend's house, to which Dean had responded /good, cause no clue where dad went/. 

Benny was a year or two older than he and Garth, and was enrolled at a nearby college. Abstractly Dean caught himself wondering what it was like, to not only indulge in drugs but to be intelligent enough to handle that and a full course-load. He supposed, with internal resignation, that he would never know.

As he crossed over the threshold he was greeted by the boy's parents, who were relaxing on the front porch. They told him the boys were upstairs, so he walked up, stopping to adjust his pants at the landing. Even though the pants were a size 2, they were still too loose on him. He didn't have particularly narrow hips, he had just turned into a slip of muscle and bone over the past few months.

Garth began to laugh upon seeing him, seemingly remembering something hilarious that had happened. Benny teased, " 't least you washed yer face... Was wonderin when you'd git aroun to it." 

"Yeah, shut up. Just cause you don't roll how I do don't mean you don't love it." He knew Benny considered him attractive; it was evident in the way his pale eyes traced Dean's lithe form as he sat cross-legged on the bed. "Pass me that!," he motioned to the plate of glass the bear was holding. "I ain't got /that/ much time 'fore work to party."

"You call this a party?" Garth's face smoothed, his demeanor calming. There was an empty wax baggie beside him. "Where are the cigs, Bennito?"

He passed them over as Dean took hold of the glass plate. "Dean, careful with that. It's some shit 'Bastian gave us th'other night, 'n it's strong."

Dean shrugged. "I can handle it." While Garth puffed grey smoke, soothed by his gram of dope, the other two ingested line after line of cocaine. Benny's warning had gone out the window in an instant. 

About three minutes after blowing, Dean ended up puking in the bathroom. He had never puked from coke before. A blood vessel in his eye had burst, and he rinsed his mouth out before returning to the boys. At that point Benny noticed the faint lines around his neck.

"You know, I wa'n't gonna say nothin bout it, but yer face is all banged up, 'n so is yer neck. I dunno who you fought with this time, but judgin by what Garth's told me, you gotta simma down." He laughed in an almost fatherly way, which sent Dean into a strange corner of his mind. There was an echo in his mind, everything felt heightened. Suddenly he needed a cigarette very badly, and shifted around the room conspicuously until he found the pack in the pocket of his denim jacket.

"It's nothin, Benny. I don't gotta cool it... I'm survivin."

"Chyea, barely," he scoffed. They proceeded to listen to some insane rock music, which Dean fell into in the most intense way. Only five minutes before his shift did he realize that he needed to leave. He took enough coke with him to keep him up for six days straight, and left half his last paycheck on the bedside table.

The rest of the day was a blur of pain, bad food, and loads of nurses. The bandages on his head had to be changed multiple times as the continued to check for any problems. He had a few scans and x-rays to ensure that they hadn't misses any internal bleeding or hemorrhages the first time around. Every time he had to move, he would be wheeled out of the room straight on his gurney, no need to get up or down. It was kind of nice, but Castiel knew he had to move eventually. He couldn't imagine what walking would feel like though, since breathing had become such a problem since they took him off the morphine. The other pain medication just wasn't as strong and left Castiel with an ache that worsened if he moved too quickly.

Gabriel had been in the middle of another strange story about occurrences at work when there was a knock on Castiel's door. The doctor strode in, the air around him large and commanding. "So we'll need to decide what to do about how he'll get around on his own and his schooling," he began. Castiel scowled. He was sitting right in front of the man, the least he could do was address him. Gabriel poked him on the cheek to make him stop and he could hear Michael get up from his chair. "What would you suggest?" he asked politely. "Well, normally he would just be able to walk, but with the ribs it may take a little longer. Not to mention his preexisting condition--" Michael cut him off. "His blindness." The large man stopped for a moment, Michael's tone sounding almost like a challenge. "Yes," he continued slowly, "His blindness. If it weren't for his arm, I would recommend a walker. Giving him a wheelchair would likely cause too much muscle atrophy. So I would suggest, unfortunately, keeping him out of school for a few months and having him walk around his room a few times a day to keep all the muscles working." Castiel scowled again. Though his prayer had been answered about not needing to go to school, he hadn't meant for months. Not to mention, Michael would be on him 24/7 to make sure he was doing what the doctor said. 

It wasn't until Michael had gone to discuss his release in a few days and Raphael had gone to get food that Gabriel finally asked him what happened with Dean. "He was... good," Castiel said, a soft smile on his face, "His voice was clear, and he sounded happy. I was honestly surprised that he came." Gabriel chuckled, "So were the rest of us, kiddo. Nearly had to put Michael in a headlock to stop him from marching in. I figured Dean wouldn't stick around if we were all there." Castiel nodded. "You're probably right," he said, suddenly worried, "What if he doesn't come visit me while I'm stuck at home? Gabriel, what if he forgets about me?" A warm hand ran gently through his hair, calming him down. "I won't let that happen," Gabriel promised, "Now go to sleep. If you yawn any wider, you'll break your jaw." Castiel laughed softly, closing his eyes to sleep again. It was annoying how tired he was because of the medication, but his dreams continued to fill with a rumbling voice and the scent of rain. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean slept Sunday night the whole way through, and didn't wake until sometime Monday evening. It was Sam who shook him up and asked what was for dinner. The hazel-eyed twelve year old seemed in light spirits, unconcerned about why his brother had slept so long or where their father was. At least the sleep had paid off. He chased Sammy down the narrow hall, clad only in pinstripe boxers and a baggy long-sleeve shirt, and into the living room. They wrestled momentarily, but Dean yielded quickly. He knew his brother didn't like physical stuff, so he always let the boy win, easily.

For dinner they had a frozen pizza and steamed broccoli. Dean ate as if he hadn't in months, and drank enough water to fill a bathtub. He looked over Sam's homework, which took only a half hour of his time, and then they commenced to watch TV. It was nice not having Dad around-- that was something they could both agree on. Although, Dean would have been content to abandon ship and go to Garth's or Meg's house. He accepted that tonight just wasn't that night. At least he had plenty of coke to last him the week. Too bad he was lacking in some other dry-goods.

Sammy went to sleep some time before ten. Dean lay on his bed smoking, some soft acoustic music playing quietly from the stereo. It was melancholy, to suit his mood. He had had a wonderful evening, but since he had slept so long he wasn't tired. A bit groggy, sure, and undecided about whether or not he wanted to stay up the night on coke or force himself to wait. In the end he told himself he would wait, and dialled Castiel's number on his cell phone.

Gabriel picked up, and Dean said apologetically, "Hope it's not too late to be... uh, checkin in...?"

Michael had bullied his way into getting Castiel released the next morning. They had little reason to actually keep him past Sunday and he won out. They'd gotten some more clarification from the nurses where the doctor had been vague. 'A few months' actually meant 'four to eight weeks' which made everyone really happy. According to Raphael's extensive Google search, the pain from his ribs should fade after around one week or so. All in all, Castiel felt that he'd gotten off pretty easy considering how hard he remembered being hit. The only thing that had made him frown was the fact that Dean hadn't come, but he didn't blame the other boy. He was glad that he'd at least come on Sunday. 

Very late Monday morning, Castiel was being given his clothes back to change into. His glasses and cane weren't among his things. He remembered what happened to his glasses, his body shuddering slightly at he memory despite the shot of pain it caused. He vaguely remembered Dean taking his cane before they spoke but he couldn't remember if the other boy had ever given it back or if it had been dropped. Castiel decided it didn't matter. He had a spare in his room somewhere. In a whirlwind of paperwork, Castiel was being wheeled out to the car, Gabriel cracking jokes the whole way. The ride home was bumpy to say the least, little hisses of pain escaping Castiel every now and then. He could feel Raphael and Gabriel staring at him the entire way. "I'm fine," he said, giving them a smile, "Michael just can't drive." The entire car erupted in laughter. It was like they were all brothers again. Castiel couldn't help but laugh as well. All it had taken was a life threatening accident. 

"Now it says one pill every twelve hours with food," Michael was reading later that evening, "So if you take it now, you'll be waking up at 7 AM tomorrow morning, and so on." Apparently these were different then the hospital pills Castiel had just finished eating his dinner. It had been brought to his room, something that hadn't happened since he had the chicken pox. He nodded his assent, holding his hand out for the medicine. His ribs had been aching all day and he just wanted it to go away. About half an hour later, Castiel was giggling out of his mind and Michael and Raphael were scouring the Internet to see if that was normal. Gabriel picked up the phone when it rang. He smiled when he heard it was Dean. He knew how disappointed Castiel had been that day. "For you? Never, Dean-o," Gabriel said as he started walking towards Castiel's room, "Our little blind runaway should be almost all healed in two months tops according to the doctors and Google. Michael bullied his way into an early release so he's back home. Though I should warn you, if you want to talk to him now, he's a bit hopped up on pain meds. He hasn't stopped giggling for about thirty minutes."

As he lay back against his pillows, sucking down smoke like sweet liquor, the sound of laughter hit him. It was so entirely unfamiliar, and it took him a minute to realize that this was the first time he had ever heard Castiel laugh. That was not the only revelation to dawn on him that night. While he listened to the delicate bird send twirls of high-pitched giggles across the line (it sounded similar to hiccuping, in a way, and was completely endearing), Dean felt a sense of... appreciation to be allowed into this boy's life. 

That's what it was, really. Being allowed in. Dean had been excluded in nearly every facet of his life-- family, school, peer groups, sports. Bobby accepted him and so did his dead-end friends, but aside from them and Sammy he could imagine no one willing to let such a fuck up enter their lives. This sort of rejection had been proven by Gabriel and the other two a few days ago, and their scorn had validated all the negative un-truths that Dean believed about himself. However, they had come around. It was unexpected, and he felt extremely lucky. 

"Chirp chirp," he said in his thick, deep drawl. Castiel's voice had yet to deepen. If he was this pretty now, Dean couldn't wait to see what puberty would do to him.

Castiel had been feeling the hard cast around his arm, the activity somehow highly hilarious when he heard his door open. He could tell it was Gabriel by the slope of his walk. The hand caressing his arm had been taken and the phone shoved into his palm. Still giggling slightly, Castiel had brought it to his ear to hear Dean's voice coming through. "Dean," he exclaimed happily, a short burst of giggles following, "How'd you get inside my phone?" His mind was a happy blur of thoughts, too fuzzy to wade through but somehow entirely comfortable. Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew it was the medication and that Michael would probably have to ask for a lower dosage, but right now, he didn't care. He giggled again.

"I was sad when you didn't come today," Castiel continued, his voice not sounding sad in the slightest, "But it's alright now because you're in my phone." He tried to calm himself down a bit but that only led to more giggle fits. "I'm sorry," he forced out. It took him another minute to actually stop, only one or two laughs sneaking through. "I hope you had a good day, Dean," he said, a little breathless. He hadn't laughed like that in years.

"Wow," Dean chuckled. "The fuck did they give you? Don't they know you only weigh eighty pounds soakin wet?" He let the laughter calm and dissipate before he started up again. "My day was nice. I'm just layin here smokin now... Slept the whole fuckin day, though. I'm a waste." He got off the bed long enough to toss his cigarette butt out the window. Then he returned. He didn't mention what a success he considered it that he had not yet ingested any amount of drugs that day. 

"I'm sure you weren't sad I missed today," he added in a dismissive tone. It was adorable, the facets of Castiel's voice tonight, and the image in Dean's mind of him pouting at the elder's lack of presence. "Like I said, I just slept..." At that point he launched into a detailed explanation of the few hours he had been awake, adding a bit about how work was the day before. Though, to be honest, he didn't remember much about the shop. Whatever cars he had worked on turned out fine, but the cocaine had fried him so significantly that he had been spinning. There was little recollection of events, which made Dean happy in and of itself. That is what he tried to achieve-- a sort of erasing. 

Once they had each shared their dull news from the day, Dean began to go on about... well, whatever came to mind. At first he was describing what music he was listening to. He told Castiel about the artist and held the phone up for him to listen to it. He mentioned how he played guitar, and said maybe some day the younger would have to hear him. There was suddenly a fountain of information spouting out of him, but his muse didn't seem to mind. The whole conversation only seemed to consign Dean to the danger that was caring about someone. Establishing a relationship outside of selfish, manipulative means.

An hour or so later he noticed himself lying back with his eyes closed. He had shut the light off in his room, the only sounds Castiel's voice and his the soft acoustic album. "I wonder if this is what it feels like to be you." He described his setting. "I've always wondered what it's like to be you. I used to..." He didn't want to bring up the reason why he followed Castiel around in the halls. The kid would never understand his compulsion to protect a perfect stranger. Dean didn't even understand that himself. "I just always wondered, when I would see you in the halls. I assumed you weren't lonely, like you must have some geeky friends, but I dunno... I guess between your brothers and bein new in high school it's hard."

Castiel couldn't wipe the smile off his face the entire time he sat listening to Dean speak, interjecting only when the other said something bad about himself. He felt like he was finally being let into the other's life, learning things about him that he could only learn if they were some kind of friends. It made Castiel's insides flutter happily. He had spoken briefly about leaving the hospital, but was much more keen on listening to Dean talk. And boy did he talk. About the music he liked, his hobbies, his work, anything that seemed to come to his mind. Castiel was happy to sit back and let him go at it. 

He wasn't sure how long they talked, Castiel speaking more as they did, making it an actual conversation. He talked a little about the books he liked to read, or as Gabriel liked to say, 'feel'. He told Dean that his favorite movies to listen to were the ones based off of books since he already knew the settings and such and didn't have to go through the movie without them. He would have been fine with talking like this for hours. He had long since lain down, the strain of sitting up for too long starting to fight through the cloud of medication, though his body had worked through the brunt of it and he no longer had to worry too much about giggle fits. 

"A lot of people always tell me that they feel sorry for me," Castiel said, "Saying how they couldn't imagine not being able to see. Something that they always seem to forget is that, I've never had my sight. I've never been able to see, and you can't miss what you've never had. Being me isn't all that different from being anyone else." Castiel settled back, snuggling further into his pillows. "I mean, it's not all bad," he continued, "There are some perks. I've never forgotten a voice in my life, even if I've only heard it once and I don't know the person's name. I can hear better, almost with pinpoint accuracy. My sense of smell is both a blessing and a curse. Gabriel's room is a toxic wasteland. I remember when I was little, I used to think I was a superhero." Castiel sighed, memories coming back to him. "I used to have friends, back in kindergarten and elementary school," he said quietly, "Back when people were a lot more accepting. Before we grew up to learn what is and isn't cool, what's normal and what's not. In middle school they all started distancing themselves, putting themselves into cliques and by this year they were gone. I never blamed them though. Survival of the fittest, and I never quite fit." He knew it was a bit of a somber topic, compared to the rest of their conversation, but Castiel wanted Dean to know what he felt. 

It was about one in the morning when they got off the phone, each agreeing that sleep would be at least beautiful.

Straight through Thanksgiving Dean spent his days working extra hours at Bobby's, getting fucked up with Benny and Garth, and nights on the phone with his muse. He had disclosed to the little bird that he had taught himself to play the guitar, had never been to the ocean, hoped to own a classical auto-shop someday, where he could do renovations. Castiel even knew about his brother and father, and a little bit about what Sammy was like. There were certain details he left out, like his mother's death, the truth about what had transpired over this year's thanksgiving, and his own pressing vices. It was only natural that a teen would want to carefully paint a picture of himself to someone he wished to impress.

Friday he had off of work. It was sometime around noon when a text from Sebastian lit up his phone. hope you havent forgotten me. i'll be at meg's tonight with a basket of goodies xoxo. There was absolutely nothing that Dean wanted more than to be knee deep in drugs, partying as if it were his last night. Since Monday he had done little; he and the guys took bong hits and bumps, and the occasional pill, but it had really been more in jest than any actual intention to be obliterated. Even during Thanksgiving dinner he had refrained from getting as drunk as John did. He deserved some type of release.

He manipulatively agreed for Sammy to spend the night at a friend's, and begged Benny pick him up as soon as possible. This time he could be prepared, because he knew he would be in Sebastian's wake. He slicked back the sides of his shaggy, discolored hair and formed the top into a sort of pompadour. The piercings were cleaned and matched the silver eyeliner he wore. His lip gloss was a sparkly sheen of gold, as were the laces on his boots. The outfit he put together was disgusting; his tightest pair of acid wash jeans, no underwear, and a baggy sweater that had once been Bobby's. Fashion magazines would call this some beaten form of hipster-- for him it was nature.

Benny let him blow a few lines before they even left the driveway. The music tonight was some dark sludge metal. That and the high made Dean curiously hot. He began to speak aloud in a near fearful way. "Do you think it's bad to, you know, have a crush on someone who's not like you, 'n then go 'n fuck other people?"

After a thoughtful pause Benny glanced over. "'s just yer crush, not like yer tied to the damn kid." Then he laughed abruptly. "Guy or girl, this one?" 

With a blush Benny couldn't see in the black of the moving vehicle (the dash lights in the huge truck did nothing but set off a glow that made Dean feel even eerier) he responded, "Guy." 

"You can tell me who. I don't go to yer school, I got no idea." He shrugged.

Lighting up a cigarette and cracking the window, he launched into a vivid explanation of everything that had happened with Castiel. Everything. Even about his father beating him with a gun and the boy getting hit by a car. The smoke was down to the filter by the time he finished, and Benny was stoic with a peaceful overture. "I think you're not tied to anyone, like I said. 'f you really care 'bout him, 'n he really cares 'bout you, nothin'll keep you apart. But you gotta figure out if he even swings that way first. Not everyone's as damn open as you are."

"Nah, I'm not open, Benny." They were in Meg's driveway now. He applied another coat of lipgloss and checked himself in the mirror. "I'm a mess."

No matter what happened each day, Castiel always looked forward to his phone call with Dean. He would call nearly every night and they would just talk about anything. Castiel learned about Dean's brother, his hopes for the future, even little things that Dean probably thought didn't matter. But it all mattered to Castiel. Every little morsel of information that he learned made him feel closer to the other boy despite the fact that they hadn't seen each other in person since the hospital. Castiel had been hesitant to invite Dean over to the house, worried about Michael and about how Dean himself would react. He felt like it was a step they weren't ready for just yet and he didn't want to scare the other boy away. 

"No Dean tonight?" Gabriel asked, letting himself into Castiel's room. Castiel turned, shaking his head a little sadly. He knew that the other boy wouldn't always have time for him and he couldn't be blamed for that. "Hey, chin up kiddo," Gabriel said, nudging him on the shoulder as he came closer, "There's a Lord of the Rings marathon on ABC tonight. I know that'll cheer you up, dork." Castiel smiled and stood up, "Shut up, Gabriel." His ribs had stopped aching a while ago and he wasn't on the hardcore pain medication anymore. He knew it was still another three weeks or so until everything was completely healed and he would have to go in for more x-rays to make sure nothing went wrong. He followed his brother down the stairs, the scent of popcorn hitting his nose almost immediately. "Told you it'd get him out of his room!" Gabriel called into the kitchen as they passed. "Yeah, yeah you're a genius," Raphael deadpanned, his voice completely unamused. Castiel laughed, imagining the set of his features.

The movies began, his brothers gathered around him, and Castiel felt happy. He was getting closer to Dean, who's voice sounded healthier almost every time they talked, not as strained and wrecked as it sometimes used to. Castiel could just feel that things were getting better. He still chuckled slightly whenever he remembered that all it had taken was a car crash, but at least things were back to normal now. Castiel settled into the couch, thinking that the only thing that would make this better would be if it was Dean sitting next to him, arm over his shoulder. He'd been thinking like that more and more recently and part of him was a little scared. Sexuality had never really been a thing that occurred to him, seeing as he never really interacted enough with others to develop any kind of feelings like that. With Dean it was different. Castiel found himself wondering what holding Dean's hand would be like, or having his strong arms wrapped around him. He wondered what Dean's lips might feel like, pressed against his own. He'd heard plenty of rumors about Dean's own sexuality, but Castiel wasn't really one to listen to hearsay. Besides, why would Dean be into someone like Castiel when he had so many better, less damaged options to choose from?

Sebastian was dripping in (fake) diamonds and reeked of YSL perfume. He wore platform wedges tonight, hot pink, and a fuzzy vest over a too-tight tee shirt. His pants were not the leather ones from the week before, but a lavish, loose satin. The whole ensemble was strange, but Dean cracked a wide, easy smile when he laid eyes on him. And yes, Dean felt grateful for having eyes.

In a bold manner Sebastian swooned Dean with a hard kiss and a quip, "Look at you tonight, vixen." He could hear Meg laughing. The cottage was silent while Benny flipped through tracks on his iPod. Without warning a Daft Punk song came on. The new one, "Get Lucky". When Dean looked over he noticed his big bear was laughing, too, in a knowing way. The words of assurance he had said in the truck were enough. It was true Dean wasn't tied to anyone, let alone a boy almost four years younger than him. At least there was breathing room, despite the odd, abnormal compulsive feelings he was having towards Castiel.

Everyone gathered round the coffee table, Sebastian seated with Meg and Garth on the couch, while Dean and a few others were on their knees. Garth's arm was around Meg's waist, her dark hair tousled prettily tonight. They were more like brother and sister than anything else. It was cute to watch them try. Sebastian had brought a few people with him, three girls and two older guys that looked less flamboyant but more deranged than anyone else in the room. It was like the blonde was followed around by a troupe of rotten peacocks. 

He set a tin canister out and lifted the lid with a pop. Out spilled bottles of pills, baggies of every imaginable drug and a brick of both dope and cocaine. Sebastian claimed it was uncut, though Dean wouldn't believe that until he had a straw covered in blood up his nose. But there was something else different about this goodie bag, aside from the large quantities of powdered goods. While Sebastian sent one of his hags into the kitchen to bring the liquor and cups, he procured a box of sterile needles, laughing when Dean openly gasped.

Four days later Dean was still awake, in NYC, completely blacked out. Sebastian hadn't made him pay for any of the drugs, nor had he made Dean pay for the car fare, food or drink. They fucked every few hours, travelling from club to dealer to club again. When Dean caught a glimpse of himself in glass or a mirror he noticed that the clothes he had on were not his own; it had already escaped his mind that Sebastian had dressed him in a different fashion. For all intents and purposes, Dean had become a living doll, too fucked up to even acknowledge or remember his own being.

His phone had died two days ago, the hallucinations had just begun, and there was no such thing as Castiel Novak.

Castiel returned to school that Monday. Dean hadn't called all weekend, and he couldn't help but wonder if maybe he'd done something wrong. Their last conversation had seemed as normal as all their other ones. They had talked about themselves, little nothings that added up together to make a clearer picture of the other. Castiel had thought that things had been going really well between them. He knew that Dean's suspension would have been finished soon as well, depending on the decision of the superintendent. He had been looking forward to maybe walking in the halls with him, if he wanted to. Castiel was honestly a little afraid of going back without Dean. 

Gabriel was starting to get pretty worried. He knew it wasn't his place, but Dean hadn't called for three days. When Gabriel had tried to call him and see what was up on Sunday, his phone had been dead. It was then that he realized he knew basically nothing about the kid. He had no idea where he lived or what kind of family he had, or even the names of his friends. Gabriel had no way to find him, save for the Singer's Salvage Yard, but he didn't know what days Dean worked. He supposed he could simply go in and ask his boss what was up, but something held him back. It was really none of his business. Maybe he was just having some sort of freak out and would call Castiel soon. Gabriel hoped so.

Tuesday passed with no sign of Dean. Wednesday went by without a whisper as well. The only thing Castiel could feel grateful for was that his bullies were leaving him blissfully alone. The entire school had somehow heard that he'd been hit by a car, and everyone had started treating him differently. Simpering girls had come up to him, concerned for his wellbeing. They started following him to classes, playing with his hair, cloying his nose with their perfume. It was kind of nice. Different. But it wasn't Dean. It wasn't strong arms and a deep voice and air that smelled like smoke and rain. Having Dean ripped so completely from Castiel's life after having such a good period was difficult and jarring. Castiel realized that he actually had no way to find Dean but his place of work, and he didn't want to make himself a nuisance. He supposed he would just have to wait for Dean to come to him, but his heart sunk a little more each day that he didn't as Castiel slowly lost hope. 

Save for his memories, as far as Castiel could tell, there was no Dean Winchester.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week had passed-- eleven days in total. Turned out Sebastian was thirty years old, had escaped England after almost being arrested for possession and trafficking. He had been dealing since he was younger than Dean. This and more he disclosed in beds and taxis with the seventeen year old. Or, sixteen, still. What month was it? Dean could nearly recall when his birthday was, but time and space had long since begun to meld together. All Dean knew was that he was watching the snow fall somewhere on the lower east side. He was freezing, despite the wool pea-coat Sebastian said made him look like a model. 

The bass drum seemed to cause colors to move within the air. It was a different time and place, and Sebastian's presence was more dominating than comforting. Actually, it had never been comforting. At one point he had thought the guy fun, was thrilled to be around him. Now he felt like Natalie Portman in the E scene of Black Swan. Everything was shifting, his clothing felt constricting and the brown-eyed man Sebastian forced him to fuck in the back of the club was laughing too loud.

Snowflakes hit his cheeks and he realized that Sebastian's phone was in his shaking hands. He had run three blocks over from the club and hid behind a series of dumpsters behind a restaurant. The area smelled of piss and he could hear movement beside him, but he had to call Meg. 

The words came out a blur, "I dunno how many day's I've been awake, Meg, he's not who we think, he's more or less kidnapped me and I dunno what to do, I think I tried to leave before but he shot me up with dope 'n I went unconscious in a pool a my own puke... I think... Fuck, Meg, send Benny and Garth!"

Meg was giggling. "Loverboy, you didn't get kidnapped, you went on your own. He'll return you when he's through." 

"CALL BENNY--"

But she hung up. 

It took him three days to fight his way back home. That night he had fled, tossed Sebastians phone down a sewer and ran to the nearest subway. He had made it onto an Amtrak headed south without getting stopped. Which was lucky, seeing as when he hopped off the train for a quick smoke at a random stop, he felt an entire brick of sally in his inside pocket. Mirrors were easy to avoid on the train; he couldn't see his outfit, or what his body looked like under all the layers. He was thankful for his new boots and coat-- the only thing that looked frantic, worn and used was his face. 

At least he still had his own wallet and phone, though that was still dead. He had no idea what date or time it was when he let himself in through his own front door. John's truck was gone, and Sammy was asleep on the couch. That never happened... 

And that's when it began. Sam woke to the front door closing, and he was up and screaming within seconds. "How could you do this to me!? Leave me alone with him for four weeks without telling anyone!? It's not fair!" His tiny fists beat upon Dean's concave chest-- he had lost an unknown amount of weight over the past month. 

"Wait-- four weeks? I was --" He rushed into the kitchen and saw the calendar there. Sammy was right. He had missed everything, including Christmas. His body was already shaking from partial withdraw, cold and hunger. Not like he had ever let himself get too far into withdraw. His eyes filled with tears now, and he fumbled with his dead phone in his hands. Too bad his last cigarette had been smoked. All the convenience stores were closed for the night.

"I'm sorry, Sammy!," he grabbed his brother by the shoulders and begged his forgiveness, diving into a strange half-truth about being taken by a stranger. 

"You should have called the cops!" He stormed off into his own bedroom, leaving Dean alone in a silent flat with all his loud, echoing thoughts.

He felt harrowed. At the bottom of the bathtub he sat, slicing his torso and thighs with a razor he had taped under the bathroom sink. It was quite a while he played at that, but hunger and insanity kept him up, despite his being immensely tired. Sure, he had slept an hour or two on the train, but he hadn't had a crash yet.

It was only then that he remembered just how well he slept after talking with Castiel.

Castiel.

Castiel.

Cyanic eyes and ethereal being.

His phone had been charging all the while by his bed. It was three in the morning, Sam was asleep. The phone said the date was January first-- how had he not heard the new year had come in? It was way too late to call the Novak house, but how could he not? Especially when he was, if he recalled, expected to show up at school tomorrow.

The loss of blood caused his head to throb. He felt weaker than he ever had, and didn't desire anything-- drugs, food, physical comfort-- aside from Castiel's voice. It didn't matter that his life was fucked up, that he was corrupt, that his father was gone and his brother hated him. Somehow the reassuring voice of a fourteen year old would heal whatever was cracked inside of him.

Well, he told himself, that's wishful thinking. Yet he dialed the number all the same. 

It had been over a month since Castiel had last heard from Dean. Unbeknownst to him, Gabriel had finally cracked three weeks ago and gone to talk to his boss only to find out that the older man didn't know where Dean had gone either. Christmas had came and went, along with New Years' Eve with no word from Dean. As hard as it was for him, Castiel still held out hope. He could practically taste the pitying looks his brothers gave him when he mentioned the other boy in passing, asking whether he'd called while Castiel was at school. Every time they answered no, Castiel felt his heart sink further.

School had become a place to forget. When he went there, he could pretend that there was no Dean. Castiel had never interacted with any of his friends, and therefore he never heard about the other boy. His classmates in his grade had suddenly become much more accepting. Getting hit by a car seemed to fix a lot of problems. Castiel had people he could call friends. They would eat lunch with him, whisper to him in class, walk with him in the hallways. It was nice, comforting even, and in the midst of their voices Castiel could make himself forget for a moment, and be happy. But underneath, there was always that gaping hole waiting to be filled.

Castiel had taken to sleeping with the phone under his pillow. None of his brothers said anything about it, but they all knew why. Every morning he woke up, disappoint at not having been jarred out of his sleep by a phone call. Every day he waited, and he would continue to wait until the day that Dean called him. He wouldn't have to wait much longer.

It was New Years' Day now, if one wanted to be technical, and Castiel had just climbed into bed. He was seconds away from slipping into sleep when the phone rang, muffled by his pillow. Castiel scrambled to rip the pillow away, fingers fumbling for the correct button to accept the call. "Hello?" he said breathlessly. He could hear footsteps, three different sets, and he knew that Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel were all standing in his doorway.

The sound of his high-pitched chirp couldn't even quicken the pace of Dean's overworked heart. It was the crash, it was finally here. Or maybe it was the blood loss that made his head and eyelids feel so heavy upon his musk-scented pillow. There was gauze wrapped around a severe cut to his inner thigh, and several large bandages on his lower abdomen. There were parts he hated more than those, but he didn't want to attack places people could readily see. As it was, the boxers and tee shirt covered these most recent self-inflicted injuries. The fabric rubbing against his thumping skin was too much pressure. He wished to be fully erased. 

Castiel's voice, at the very least, distracted him from the pain of his brother's inconsolable words. He had missed the holidays, which Sammy relied on him for. The boy could barely make it through mother's day, let alone a huge happy thing like Christmas. Dean was always his rock, until he engaged in a betrayal so broad as to abandon his life for a stranger with connections. 

Had John even been home for Christmas? Had the boy gone to Bobby's house? Cried himself to sleep? Why had Sammy been the only one home, at twelve years old? Then again, Dad had willingly left Dean home alone at ten, and that was with a six year old to bathe, feed, and put to sleep.

"Morning, bird." He spoke so soft it sounded hushed. It was not an effort to be quiet; rather, his body was entirely finished, though his mind reeled. Knowing now the reality of how long he had had vanished for, he asked the question tenderly, fearful of the answer. "How have you been?"

"Dean," Castiel breathed as he heard the boy echo the words from the hospital all those months ago, "Forget about me! What about you? Are you alright? What happened? Do you need help? Dean, I've missed you." Castiel knew he was asking questions faster than anyone could possibly answer, but he couldn't help it. He'd been so worried and Dean's voice sounded unnaturally soft. All three of his brothers had come into the room as soon as they heard Castiel speak the other boy's name. He had almost become like a ghost in the house, a presence that everyone ignored save for the one person that wanted to believe he was real. 

Beneath his concern, Castiel's heart was soaring. He knew Dean would come back to him, he just knew it. The other boy sounded weak, hurt, and tired, but he was alive and he was calling Castiel. His heart suddenly felt whole and he knew that everything would be alright again. Dean was back and everything was going to be okay. It seemed he was the only one who thought so. He could almost taste the tenseness in the air around him, emanating from the other three bodies in the room. He brushed it aside. Nothing could bring him down. Not while the sound of Dean's voice was in his ear.

The series of questions caused him to swoon. Endorphins filled his bloodstream where his body naturally tried to fend off the pain. Cutting himself had stopped the shaking, too. It took him too long to respond to his friend. Harmless tension filled the line between them, and broke instantaneously when Dean's sorrowing voice picked up.

"I was away." It made its way out so easily, he believed himself. "An old friend wanted me to take off with him... I forgot my phone charger." As he spoke, the story built itself. "Didn't wanna spend forty bucks on a new one, 'n I don't have any numbers committed to memory." There was a silence, where Dean reached up to brush his own hair with his fingertips. "I'm more interested in hearin bout how you're doin, though... You went back to school, right? I'll be back tomorrow, 'f I can wake up in time." He laughed weakly. "'m tired." 

He listened to Castiel's poetic speech pattern and began to doze off, waking every now and then to catch bits and pieces. The kid had made a few friends at school, and even if they weren't true friends, they were something. Dean was grateful for these strangers who had helped his child get to and from class safely. He even laughed when Cas told him about how the girls played with his hair. Drunkenly he quirked, "Told you! The girls all think you're pretty." There had never been a point where he had 'told' the boy that. This was where his bender had shredded him inside. Some things were figments, others painfully alive. He hoped the worst memories were created and fueled by the drugs, not to be weighted heavily in his too-human trajectory. Fear caught in his chest briefly-- what of it all was true?

Jealousy existed, too. That Castiel had found other people to be with at school. People held his arm at the crook and looked into his eyes.That's what Dean had wanted, when all was said and done. Yet he managed to feel somehow disappointed as well as grateful. That was supposed to be his child, no one else's.

Then, Castiel wasn't a child. He was fourteen, older than Sam (who was his child in ways). The Novak boy was tragically beautiful, a thing that even Dean couldn't place. He was far more blessed than he could see, and would never understand his own fortune. Around five in the morning, when his dozes were finally noticed by Castiel, he admitted he needed sleep. 

Whether or not he promised to appear at school tomorrow, he couldn't say. He fell asleep smiling, but never showed up.

Castiel stayed up with Dean for hours, telling him about everything that he'd missed. He still sounded unbelievably tired, faint almost, but Castiel was content to speak with him anyway. His story sounded a little flimsy, but Castiel let it slide for now. He told Dean all about the people at school who had begun to be nice to him, the girls that flitted around him. He told him about the holidays at his house and how Gabriel had somehow tricked Michael into eating an entire pie on his own. One by one, he heard his brothers leave the room as the night wore on, none of them working up the nerve to tell Castiel that he had to go to bed. So he didn't. Castiel stayed up, talking to Dean until he noticed that the other was falling asleep on the line. With Dean's promise to be at school the next day, Castiel decided to catch an hour or two of sleep, feeling blissfully, obliviously happy. Happier than he had felt in weeks.

Castiel waited the next day. He waited and waited. He waited for the smell of rain and smoke and leather to come up behind him in the hallway. He waited for that deep rumbling voice to call out his name. He waited for a fleeting touch from those large, warm hands. He waited in vain. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wednesday came and went. Dean slept through it all. Sam went in to check on him more than once, to ensure that he was still breathing. It was a sorry thing that Dean had run off with Sebastian, or been taken (he had yet to find out the truth of his actions-- Meg might of lied). The younger brother had been traumatized by the event, and the words that John had spewed about his own first-born son made Sam shake. He didn't want Dad to come home, that was certain. Even though he really didn't want to stay here, home alone with only an unstable teen to protect him from the world. Something had changed in Sam during that month, and would never be recovered.

He woke Thursday afternoon, when two hands dragged him out of bed by his hair and pinned him against the floor by his neck. Dad was sitting atop his bony chest, looking down with flames for eyes. "Where the fuck were you, do you have any idea how difficult you made this past month!?" 

Dean had no idea how to respond. It was impossible to feel John out at a moment like this; he knew not what his father wanted to hear. That stunted his ability to lie or be honest altogether. Instead he simpered, being far too groggy to fabricate a web. "I know... I've already gotten it from Sammy... I'm sorry." 

And he was. John screamed something about wanting him out of the house within the week. That seemed a little much, especially considering half the time Dean spent at home was housekeeping and caring for Sam. He coughed, "What about my brother?"

Peering down, hands still tight around Dean's throat, "It was Sam's idea." 

No, that couldn't be possible. Everything was totally upside down. John disappeared again, this time only to go grocery shopping with the younger son. During that time with the house to himself, he got up to go to the bathroom. The mirror reflected the atrocity he had become. He could only see his upper half, yet that was frightening enough. Red marks on his neck, puffy bags under his eyes from too much sleep. Both piercings needed to be cleaned, which he did right then. His hair was tousled and pushed over to one side-- thankfully he had showered before he slept, though he didn't know yet how long he had been under. He saw a piece of gauze sticking out from under his boxers, and noticed the fresh cuts. They were a bit sore, the bandages all covered in half-dried blood. Cleaning them took a few minutes, but they seemed alright to let breathe.

In his bedroom again he felt around in the strange pea-coat's pocket for a pack of smokes. He found his wallet, loaded with cash and baggies of unmarked pills. There was a considerable amount of cocaine and even half a bundle of dope. A sick feeling took him in the gut as he remembered a few random pieces of the month passed. As soon as he remembered he forced himself to think about something else. He needed cigarettes, and began to get dressed to walk the ten minutes to the convenience store.

As he pulled on his unlaced new neon yellow boots-- his worn black ones were nowhere to be found-- he heard his phone going off. That was when he noticed the date and time. Four o'clock, January 3rd. It was Benny. While Dean walked down to the store he unloaded the whole story to Benny, every tiny detail, just as he had that night in the car. Apparently Benny had had little idea what had happened after that Friday night. "I left 'fore you did, though now I reckon I shoulda taken you wit me... 'm sorry, Dean, 'n glad yer alive...I've looked for ye, 'n I was about a minute away from callin the cops til I called you and your phone was back on. Figured if I could at least reach you, maybe I could find ye myself."

That was when he told Benny about his father kicking him out. "That's too bad, but 'f you need to you can always stay hea. 's not big and there are times I get annoyinly coy about my college work, but you can stay here."

Dean was thankful, but honestly not even sure if John would truly kick him out. Then there was the issue of transport. Benny lived about twenty minutes away, and far enough that school buses would not go to his place. He lived a few towns over, in a little city where the college was. The apartment he lived in with his one roommate was small but clean; Dean and Garth had been over there a few times on better days.

His father came home and cooked some sort of half-assed meal, and drank a whole bunch of beer. Dean ate in stupor. Everything felt surreal. Sam didn't speak to him, just stared down at his plate, and John demanded to know if he would be going back to school or not. Dean realized his suspension date was up. "Yeah, I'll go back." That at least seemed to satisfy the dark-eyed man.

He was too insecure to call Castiel that night, and ended up cutting again, all across his hip bones-- shockingly prominent, even to him-- and his upper arms. It was a challenge, he willed himself not to take the drugs he had in his coat, which he had since moved into his closet. There would be times when he really needed those items, and a random school night was not one of them. His body at least felt better after all the sleep, if sore. But his belly was full for the first time in weeks. The cuts felt nice, too. Relieving, in a way. He tossed and turned for a while, ended up reading for a bit, and then finally fell asleep.

Dean was extremely intentional about the way he moved in the hallways at school. He had a whole slew of friends there, and many of them were eager to see him again, but he remained oddly quiet, and walked as quickly as he could. At one point he neared Castiel, turned and went a different route to class. Just seeing the mop of hair and the pencil-narrow frame made him feel sick inside with want and fear. The entire day he avoided seeing the boy; he was terrified that somehow this kid could hate him now, too, and also wanted to observe the new girls that flirted with him all day, the group he sat with at lunch.

They were pretty. Not like Cas would care, but their voices were nice and they seemed good-natured. One had an arm around snaked around Castiel's pinched waist as they ushered him to math class. It was an interesting thing, to watch him be fawned over. Dean was glad someone was there to do it for him. Yet his heart sank at the realization that it wasn't him. And it couldn't be him, not yet at least. He thought about following Cas home, slipping into the house behind him and announcing his presence with a hug. That was creepy, though, and would involve him being outgoing. He felt quite the opposite today. 

Finally he settled. It wouldn't be right to say nothing. But what could he possibly do? At the dismissal bell he found Castiel at the lockers, one girl proudly holding his cane, another helping him load things into his bag, and a third prattling on about a teacher. As Dean approached he gave the girls a death stare. One abandoned ship, while the other two stubbornly remained. They stood stark still, as if he were a wild cat approaching some small prey. The closer he got, the more daring he felt, and suddenly he was himself again, a loose, gender fluid boy with a broken home and no future. He slid his arms around Castiel's neck desperately, as if he were one of the tiny freshman girls, as if this skinny boy were his great protector. Maybe for this moment he was.

"I miss you," he muttered into the pale ear. Dark hair pushed aside as he buried his nose into it, finally close enough to inhale the scent of down.

Castiel was half convinced that his phone call with Dean had been entirely in his own imagination. None of his brothers brought it up, and it was easy to pretend it hadn't happened. But something about it had felt too real for Castiel to forget completely. He didn't tell any of his new friends what had happened. He didn't trust any of them, not with information like that. He just tried to act as normal as he possibly could, an extra sigh thrown in here and there when he couldn't stop himself. Tuesday turned into Wednesday and Wednesday turned into Thursday and still, Dean didn't come. As broken hearted as he felt, Castiel somehow still hoped that he would come. Everyday, there was something in the back of his head that told him not to give up just yet, but it was getting harder and harder, especially after that phone call. Castiel had gone home Thursday night, his eyes glistening, disappearing into his room as soon as he got the chance.

Gabriel knocked on the door that night after three days of leaving him alone. He came in and sat on Castiel's bed where he was laying down, eyes open, seeing nothing. "It's not your fault you know," Gabriel said softly as he sat down. Castiel sighed, turning over and curling up. "I know," he answered, though he wasn't entirely convinced. "You said yourself that he sounded pretty wrecked. He's probably sleeping off whatever happened, because I don't buy for one second that he just up and left with a friend for a month." Castiel nodded in agreement. There was something about Dean's story that just seemed off. He would never leave Sam like that. Not for that long, not on purpose. Castiel knew that much. He wished that Dean felt comfortable enough to tell him the truth and he prayed that nothing bad had happened to him. "He'll come around, kiddo," Gabriel reassured him, ruffling his little brother's hair a bit, "Just wait a little longer. He'll come around." At this point, Gabriel wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Castiel or if he was trying to convince himself.

School was the same as it always was the next day. His friends including him as best they could, the girls who fancied themselves his protectors and escorts walked him to and from class, carrying his things when they could get the chance. It was honestly pretty surreal after being on his own all year. He wanted to ask them why they hadn't noticed him earlier, but he had a feeling that he wouldn't really appreciate the answer. He knew that they were all shallow when it came down to it, only coming to his aid after he'd nearly died. At the same time, he couldn't blame them. It was in their nature. He just wished that he would find some real friends soon. The one he'd thought he had didn't seem to think the same. Despite the fact that Dean hadn't come all week, Castiel still felt himself holding his breath in the hallways, listening for him. He knew he must've been acting really weird, but his friends ignored it. Every once in a while, he would think that he could smell leather and rain and he would stop no matter where he was, but it never lasted long. Finally he just wrote it off as his imagination. His paranoia getting the best of him. 

Another day ended with no sign of Dean, but Castiel refused to give up hope. He went to his locker, three girls who's names he really didn't care to remember. The people that cycled around him, the girls especially, were constantly changing. They talked at him, not really to him, and he was content to smile and nod when he had to and let them continue as they were. He was just feeling around for his last book when he noticed that the girls had stopped talking around him and had seemingly disappeared. He opened his mouth to call out for them when someone grabbed him into a hug. Castiel tensed and froze when he felt arms wrap around him, an all too familiar voice in his ear, an all too familiar scent surrounding him. "Dean," he breathed. He squirmed in the other's hold until he could wrap his arms tightly around Dean's middle, burying his face in his chest. "You wouldn't have to miss me if you didn't leave, assbutt!" Castiel's words were muffled by Dean's body but he refused to let go. Not again. Castiel didn't even realize he was crying until he felt the hot tears soaking into Dean's shirt. He hasn't realized just how much he'd missed the other boy until he was standing in front of him again. "Don't ever leave again," he mumbled. He knew it was an unfair request, but Castiel didn't care. "How am I supposed to know you're really here if you don't prove it?"

The way Castiel phrased it made complete sense. In order for Dean to prove his words-- more like empty promises-- to this fragile bird, he needed to not just make an appearance, but a presence. After all, there was nothing for Cas to see, and therefore he relied strongly on his other senses to tell him what was true and not.

With their ribs and hips pressed tightly together, and Castiel's wet eyes were pressed into his bony chest, Dean found that he didn't, in fact, want to let go. It was only in this moment that he discovered the down-feather scent that was this boy he had been longing to know intimately for the past five months. It was presently that he felt the desire for Castiel, for everything he signified past and future, swell within his hollow heart. A fluttering in his gut told him that it was actually happening; he had somehow begun to achieve a (lasting?) closeness with the slight brown haired boy, the one he wished to save and love and protect.

Perhaps it was entirely egotistic to want to be the outstanding person, to change Castiel's life for the better. Clearly others had done the job while he had vanished. He still avoided thinking back upon the month he had spent in New York City. Events and words had transpired there that he would to never look upon again. Hopefully his muse would just quit asking. Dean was afraid of what would happen once he opened his mouth.

He breathed deep, his hollow stomach pressing against Castiel's. They had stood there in a fixed, poignant embrace for so long that the two girls had slipped away, leaving the cane and glasses behind. When Dean finally pulled away (he had chosen not to respond verbally to Castiel's plea; his answer, for now, was his being) he placed them in the backpack and shut the locker. 

"You won't need those right now," he said to himself. "We gotta hurry if we wanna make the bus." There was a clock in the hall above the lockers, and Dean eyed it as he took Castiel's good hand in his. Two bookbags on his shoulders felt light now that his fingers were laced through those elegant ones. With his thumb he traced that beautiful spot where the bone of his wrist stuck up. 

He led them out of the school and got Castiel safely on his bus. The backpack was situated next to the window, while the arm with the cast lay across his lap. Dean sat with him briefly, silent. Bus drivers required a pass in order for a student from another route to ride, but to leave Castiel now might kill him. To let him go and return to his sad, sorry home. To Sam's silence and his father's terrible words.

Quickly he rushed to the front of the bus, lied to the driver about Castiel having lost his cane today, and ran back to the bird. "I'm gonna go home with you... that alright?" It was a selfish move, more to benefit himself than the body pressed beside him. 

The bus rumbled into motion and he lost himself in Castiel's blue eyes. It had been so long since he had last looked into them. They were clear, yet an amalgam. What lied behind them Dean could merely wish to discover over time. One hand found Castiel's, fingers entwined. Dean sat enraptured, and used his free thumb to gently rub the skin beneath and around those blue eyes. 

"I'm the luckiest person to ever live," he admitted. It certainly felt like he was right now, though that was subject to change when the bus ride ended. They were locked in a portal for thirty to forty minutes, a portal that held them in time and space. Nothing else mattered but to touch the boy in a way that made them both feel good. 

In a confident, if melancholy way, Dean leaned in and kissed Castiel full on the lips. It wasn't planned, and as soon as it happened he pulled away, chastising himself. What if the other wasn't bisexual, gay, or any other irrelevant label? What if he just wasn't interested like that? Then again, would it really matter? At fourteen, the kid could speak up if he didn't want it.

But clearly he wanted it. Dean kissed him again, murmuring against his plump, pale lips, "You are my luck, bird."

Castiel knew that he never wanted to move again. There was nothing better than hugging Dean. Really hugging him. Strong arms wrapped tightly around him, smooth voice in his ear. Castiel didn't realize how much he'd truly missed Dean until he was in front of him again. He knew that the girls must have left, what with how long they were standing there trapped in each other's arms. There was never a moment when Castiel wished he could see more than right now. What he wouldn't give to be able to see Dean's face. He felt the other grab his things, and put them in his bag which he then heard being heft over Dean's shoulder. He wasn't wearing his glasses, but with Dean he didn't mind. With Dean he was safe. 

He felt Dean slip his hand into Castiel's and he squeezed back tightly, never wanting to let him go. He was afraid that as soon as he did, Dean would disappear again and this time he wouldn't come back. Luckily, he didn't have to worry about that. Dean climbed up behind him when his bus came around, not leaving but instead plopping down next to him, their bodies pressed close together. "I would love if you came home with me," Castiel agreed instantly, his heard soaring. There was nothing he wanted more. He could tell something huge had happened, whether it was at home or at the place he'd disappeared to, Castiel didn't know but he knew that something had changed Dean. He wanted to be there to offer comfort to the other boy, like Dean was for him all those months ago in the hallways of school. 

They sat in a comfortable silence as the bus rumbled along, fingers entwined, barely a hair of space between them. Castiel's stomach was fluttering and he felt like he was floating. He heard Dean's words and turned towards him, happy that he was beginning to understand, when he felt lips pressed against his own. Before he could even think about reciprocating, they were gone again and that was something Castiel didn't approve of at all. He had been imagining how that would feel for upwards of three months now, and it was even better than he could have fantasized. Dean's lips were soft and warm, his touch gentle. Castiel decided that this is what he wanted to spend the rest of his life doing. Suddenly, Dean was back, pressing their lips together and Castiel leaned in slightly, responding to the kiss. He could feel heat creeping up his neck and flooding into his face as he reached up slowly pressing his hand into one side of Dean's face, feeling it beneath his fingers. He didn't pull back very far, not wanting to lose the close intimacy. "You're my light in the dark, Dean," he whispered quietly, pressing his lips back against Dean's, albeit a little off mark. 

It was endearing, when Castiel leaned in and pressed his lips against Dean's freckled cheek. He simply moved his face tenderly in accordance, responding to the motions of the other. Their fingers were entwined still, the far off sound of teenage voices much like rustling leaves. In a way he was thankful they weren't entirely in private; Dean couldn't be trusted, that was for sure, no matter how well he intended to treat this boy. Castiel was blind, and recently turned fourteen. He was successful, too, with three brothers who loved him so intensely they might smother him-- there was a lot at stake should Dean fuck this one up.

And deep inside his chest, where that melancholy pervaded despite his lips being busy, he knew he would.

Once they were safely off the bus, Dean stopped them and begged leave to smoke a cigarette before entering the house. Just as he was about to ask which house is it?, he realized the boy wouldn't be able to answer that. Curiosity mixed with fear, and as he lit his cigarette he acknowledged that he had never been to the Novak place. How long the family had lived there? Castiel hadn't attended his elementary or middle school. What were his brothers like behind closed doors? Would they bar him from coming in so unexpectedly like this? What would they say when they boys wanted to go into Castiel's room alone and shut the door? Surely it wouldn't be like Meg's house, where anything went at any hour of the day.

"Here," he slid his fingers back into Castiel's the second his cigarette was lit and in his mouth. "D'you mind this? Or you feel babied? You hate my smoking? You 'fraid they're gonna see us?" The questions prattled out as quickly as they came, borne on a wave of energy. Kissing his crush for the first time was a drug in and of itself, and one he hadn't taken in years. The last crush was a girl, when he was twelve. It hadn't ended well, much like everything else in his life. Things unraveling, falling apart was a theme of his pathetic existence. Maybe that's why he compensated so hard, his efforts to impress only biting him deeper, like the cuts between his ribs. 

Castiel's grip tightened on Dean's hand, lightning shooting through his body as they kissed. He knew it probably sounded cheesy, but that was the only way he could think to describe it. Vaguely in the background, he heard noise. The other students who took his bus, the rumble of the engine, the rush of the wind through someone's open window, but none of that matter. The only thing Castiel could think of was Dean, Dean, Dean. The warmth of his body, the press of his lips, the gentleness of his touch. There was nothing else. Only Dean. 

Of course, the bubble was popped when the bus pulled up to his stop. Castiel was a little worried that one of his brothers would be waiting outside and would accidentally ruin everything, but Dean made no mention of seeing any of his brothers. Castiel walked them towards where he knew his house was until he felt Dean tug him back, asking for a quick smoke. Castiel agreed, standing by his side as he took out his cigarettes. Of all the habits he'd heard about Dean having, smoking was the most tame. Loads of people smoked. Castiel didn't necessarily like it, what with the threat of cancer and other diseases, but it was safer than getting wasted or high. At least Dean was fully aware. 

Castiel let out a little chuckle at Dean's rapid-fire questions, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "I don't mind it," he answered truthfully, "It's definitely not the worst thing you could be doing." He scooted himself closer, though made sure to avoid the flow of smoke. His entire body felt light and airy, as if nothing could bring him down from this moment. "I like holding your hand," he continued, feeling a little like they were suddenly back in elementary school. They stood together for a few more moments, Dean working on his cigarette and Castiel simply enjoying his company. "Well slap me on a cross and call me a believer," Gabriel shouted from behind them, "If it isn't Dean-o, back from his mysterious adventures." He eyed the way the two were standing and realized that they finally had some kind of emotional breakthrough. A smile found its way onto his face. They'd do good things for each other. He could tell.

When the boy mentioned that smoking was the better than most things he could do, Dean stifled a laugh. Too bad I'm prolly doin more than you could ever imagine possible. His thumb traced the wristbone as if their hands had been friends for years. The cold winter air was blowing against them, causing the other's dark locks to whip and curl. It was beautiful, and Dean laughed freely and easily as he listened to the answers coming at him. Though the blue eyes were unseeing, they were expressive in and of themselves-- their color, their position, the way his brows did or did not twitch in expression.

Dean only felt a smidgen guilty that he was wearing the peacoat Sebastian had got him; mostly the guilt came from his belief that he should have thrown the coat away and burned it after all that had happened. Yet, beyond the designer coat, he was wearing the boots, too. It was daring, sure, and part of him wondered if the man would ever find him-- maybe Meg would sell him out, send the older guy on his tail. Sebastian had treated him like a possession, a doll, and Dean had escaped without permission, though he had apparently come completely willing.

The sound of Gabriel's chipper voice made Dean jump, and he jerked his hand out of Castiel's. He even went so far as to take a few steps away, out of Castiel's arm-reach. "Hey, Gabriel..." He wasn't sure what else to say. Everything about this was embarrassing; he felt heat creep up behind his freckles and piercings. A defensive hand went up to adjust his nose ring, as if that made a difference in anything. It was then Dean admitted to himself just how terrified he was of being rejected, even judged, by Castiel's family. 

Feeling compelled to offer rationale or explanation, he snuffed his cigarette out and said, "I just... uh, you know, wanted to make sure he got home okay. So, you know... You can have him now."

"Ha!" Gabrial barked out a laugh, "You wish you were getting off that easy." He was in front of them in three long strides, grabbing the both of them by the elbow. With a huge smile on his face, Gabriel tugged them both into the house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Gabriel," Castiel complained, terrified that he was going to scare Dean away, "Please don't." Gabriel's face and voice took on feigned innocence as he looked the door behind them. "Don't what?" Castiel simply raised his eyebrows, huffing out a sigh. Gabriel laughed. "Oh come on," he said, nudging Castiel's shoulder, "It's our job to give him the third degree." It was then that Castiel noticed the soft steps on the entrance carpet. Michael's slow and even steps. "Indeed it is," he agreed, voice polite and indifferent, "Dean, please come in. We'd like to have a word with you. Castiel, if you wouldn't mind grabbing a water bottle for our guest?" Castiel bit his lip before making his way to the kitchen as fast as he could. Gabriel and Michael ushered Dean into the living room. 

"Now I'm sure Raphael would like to be here for this, but we'll have to suffice," Gabriel said with a grin as he plopped down on the coffee table. Michael glared at him for a moment, taking his own seat in the armchair across from Dean. "Ground rules first," Michael said succinctly, "There will be no illegal substances in this house. Castiel will not be participating in the usage of such substances. He will go nowhere without our pre-given approval of the location. He will go to no parties that do not have some kind of competent parental supervision. Is that understood?" Michael barely even waited for a nod before continuing, "Whether you simply plan on being his friend or if you wish to take it further, these rules will apply. I will not interfere into your own life choices, but I ask that for his sake, you refrain from interacting with him while under the influence of anything." Here Gabriel interjected, "Now, this isn't anything against you personally, I swear. He did the same thing to my first girlfriend, and I met her at church." He let out a small chuckle before he went on, "Look, the point is is that we just want to protect him. He's only fourteen, and though age is but a number, it's still a pretty big difference in experience, you know? Just, try to keep that in mind when you make plans." Michael nodded, looking at Dean seriously before speaking again, "We know you mean well, that much is clear, and if you ever need anything we will do our best to help in whatever way we can. We just ask that you treat him well." Castiel made his way into the room, carrying a water bottle for Dean. Before he had a chance to ask, Gabriel told him that the other was on the couch. He walked over and sat himself down, using his hand to figure out which side Dean was on. He handed him the water bottle, turning to look at him with a worried expression, "They weren't too bad were they?"

For as fearful as he should have been, Dean liked the attention. He liked being sat down by two caring older brothers, and spoken to directly about the boundaries. A child like Dean had been raised with marginal, if any, boundaries. One of the many factors in his current state. Yet as he listened on, forcing himself to hold eye contact with Michael, his heart sunk. Where at first he had felt confident and capable of meeting their demands, he quickly realized this was not going to work. Not unless he lied. 

He considered lying the entire duration of the speech, planning out a light-hearted, parent-approved response. Up until the point when the bird flitted into the room, his hands and feet careful to find the couch and Dean. Their thighs pressed together when Castiel sat beside him, and the warmth of the implied flesh made Dean's heart jump. There was no way he could do this, after everything he had already cast to ruins. Again the walls were hoisted back up, single-handed, in a matter of seconds. He had gone to school with the cigarettes, of course, and one of the bags of pills. Xanax bars, the highest dosage possible, which he had resolved to take only in an emergency (he expected to be freaking out his first day back, not sinking into a mellow depression). Despite the stupor he had been in from the moment he woke up, he snorted an entire bar some time shortly after lunch -- which he didn't eat-- and was still strongly feeling the effects. 

Shamed, but not willingly to lie any further, Dean said to Castiel, with a smile on his face, "No, they were fine. Better than I had hoped." Turning to the brothers, "Thanks for layin that all out. It's committed to memory, for sure. But I gotta go. I'll... uh, I can come back another time."

The barrel-chested words followed him as he stood up, nodded good-bye and let himself out the front door. For his sake...under the influence of anything... That would be most of the time. Who was he kidding? As he made it to the end of the street he mentally calculated where the nearest local bus stop was. About five minutes later he sat smoking under a plastic awning, in complete acceptance of the fact that he had, at last, no one or nowhere left to attempt to belong. 

Castiel's face fell as he heard Dean nearly bolt out of the room. He turned towards where he knew at least Michael would be in his favorite arm chair. "What did you do?" he accused, voice low. Michael was disappointingly unruffled. "I laid down the ground rules, same as I did when Gabriel brought his first girlfriend home," he answered, not a trace of guilt in his voice. Castiel's eyes widened. "Relax little bro," Gabriel laughed, "It was as obvious as the day is long that you two had some sort of big emotional breakthrough. Raphael actually won the pool on when it would actually happen." Castiel's jaw dropped, "I can't believe you made bets!" He left the room, grabbing his backpack on the way so he could try and do his homework. 

He shouldn't have even bothered. Castiel had barely even cracked a book when he lost focus. Why had Dean left so quickly? Was he regretting everything? Of course he was! Why wouldn't he? Castiel was a skimpy little fourteen year old blind kid. Dean was a lean-toned seventeen year old with all his senses in tact. There was no visible reason that he would choose Castiel over all the others who were likely throwing themselves at his feet. Castiel abandoned his homework. He knew it wasn't getting done. Instead he showered quickly, grabbing the phone before climbing into bed. He knew it was late afternoon at the earliest, but he just wanted to sleep. It made a familiar bump underneath his pillow as he laid down, praying that somehow, Dean wouldn't regret this in the morning. There was nothing Castiel wouldn't do for Dean if he was able, but he knew there was no way he'd be able to put himself back together again if Dean took what happened today back. Castiel wouldn't be able to survive that kind of blow. 

One more cigarette he smoked arrogantly as he walked from the bus to his house. It was a joke, really. The idea that he had ever believed he was enough for someone. He hadn't been enough for his father or friends, he had betrayed his only brother and made a mess of the potential relationship with Cas because of his countless vices. It was a joke that he thought he could get away with being high, with carrying pills around in his pockets, while going to his muse's house for the first time. And it wasn't simply the Xanax that had him feeling oh-so relaxed about this latest bottom. It was the fact, the validation he had received that day, that no matter the proof that his touch corrupted, he continued to fool himself into thinking he could save. That arrogance, mixed with the drugs, brought him across the Winchester threshold in a flurry of cold air and smiles. It was the smile of someone who had completely given up.

Dad was passed out on the couch, an empty bottle tipped over beside him. The television was on, a bit too loud, and the pale light in the grey room tainted Dean's mood with darkness. All the blinds and curtains in the one-story house were drawn, but that was nothing new. It looked nighttime already, though it was only around five o'clock. He called Sam's name and got no response, so he walked down the hall in his sweeping way, only to be met by a closed door. 

Knocking, he called his brother's name again. Finally the boy swung the door open slowly. His tiny room was plain and orderly, with splashes of color where it could be afforded. The desk lamp and overhead light were both on, books spread open on the desk. Dean looked down upon his brother all but blankly. "We've gotta talk about this." 

"No, we don't. You abandoned me for... Dean, you swore you never would." The boy barely looked up, but when he did the elder caught flickers of gold-blue eyes. Or gold-green, it was difficult to decide. 

Rudely, he pushed his way into the boy's room and shut the door. "Did Dad really mean what he said about me bein kicked out?" Typical. The starter question would be all about his own welfare, nothing to do with the brother.

"Does Dad really mean anything? We won't know until he wakes up and either tries to kill you or doesn't slide. He seemed glad enough you went back to school today."

Dean nodded pensively, feeling ten times his age. He gazed around the room, taking in what might be the last sight of it. When his eyes returned to those color-shifting ones he admitted, "I'm really sorry, Sammy. 'n I know you don't believe it, I totally betrayed you. I'm awful. But you know there's nothin I would put in front a you... not intentionally... 'n what I went through this whole past month, man, I dunno 'f I can ever tell you."

"That's great, because I don't want to hear it. You can say you're sorry all you want, but just like Dad I can't believe a thing you say until you prove it with what you do!" He wasn't loud. Rather, highly emphatic about his words. Dean thought they sounded familiar. Castiel had said a similar piece to him earlier that day. Before he had taken him by the hand and kissed him... 

"You hungry?"

"I'll eat if you cook."

Standing over the bathroom sink, Dad's clippers in his hand, he gave himself a buzz-cut around the sides and back of his head. Like a UK model, he left the whole crown full of lavish, wavy locks. They were gold, brown and black now, while the shortened hairs were a shiny gold. Adjusting his appearance gave him a semblance of control, and connected him to his attacker. Sebastian, whether Dean realized it consciously or not, had taught the teen hundreds of subtle, untraceable things about himself. Having sunk so low on his own, the state he had been in while trapped in a penthouse with an international drug dealer seemed tame. It was now he agreed to explicate upon a personality already chosen for him. During that mystery month he had become, in every facet of existence, the monster that everyone had always said he was. Doubting it, he held on to a few strings of hope upon escaping. Those strings were shredded. The identity he had developed during that time was now his permanent state. Worse than freak, monster.

This was all around ten at night, with Sam asleep and Dad still motionless. From under the sink he drew his razor blade and the needle he used to pierce himself. The eyebrow had been done professionally--Benny had given him too much hell about the hazards of nerve damage. But nose and other places were fair game, he supposed. Piercing his lip took him less than five minutes. He plugged the spot with a large ring he had laying around from a set he'd bought for his eyebrow. Sterilizing it with mouthwash felt nice, as did the pain. For the moment he didn't need to cut; the throbbing in his face sufficed.

Dull background music, effortlessly chosen. Naked in his bed fingering his own scars. Some thin, flecks, others thick and raised. All over his body, shameful as leaving Castiel's house without explanation. The brothers knew. He had communicated with them by acting, not speaking. That seemed to be a running theme in the joke of his life. In order to achieve some state of fatigue he snorted a gram of heroin. Unused to it, he ran to the bathroom wrapped in a throw blanket to vomit before returning to his bed to smoke a nice cigarette. They always tasted so nice after dope... 

Nodding out, burning his fingers, speech drunk-thick, he called.

All three of his brothers had come in to check on him periodically, Gabriel coming in more than the others, but Castiel's eyes remained resolutely shut. He didn't want to hear them explain or say how it wasn't his fault or anything like that. Something had happened, and though Castiel was unsure of exactly what, he knew it had to do with him somehow. Probably with the kiss. Castiel got excited just thinking about it, but it was quickly dampened by the thought that Dean probably wished it didn't happen. Why else would he leave so early? Gabriel and Michael had obviously freaked him out with the whole friend/boyfriend talk and he'd left because he thought it was all one big mistake. Castiel went over every moment of that day, and he couldn't see where things went wrong. Dean had approached him, giving him a hug first. Dean had taken his hand first every time their fingers became entwined. Dean had given him his first kiss. Dean had initiated everything that day and it confused Castiel to no end that he left. He had thought that he would be able to show Dean the house at the very least. Especially his room. 

Gabriel had come in a few hours ago, leaving him something to eat. That must have been around 7 o'clock or so. Now it was probably time for Castiel to actually go to sleep, but he stubbornly refused himself. He wanted to be awake if Dean called him. Castiel sat up for the first time since he'd laid down and stretched out, bones cracking in a satisfying way. The inside of his cast itched, but he couldn't do much about that. He stood up, walking over to his desk where Gabriel had said that he left the food. It was a sandwich. They probably figured he wouldn't eat it right away and didn't give him anything that would get cold. Smart. He bit into it, chewing slowly and quietly, irrationally afraid that if he was too loud he wouldn't hear the phone ring. He sighed, putting the food back down, wandering over to sit on his bed again. Dean was arguably one of the best things that had ever happened to him. He treated Castiel with gentleness and care, without being completely smothering. He spoke to him normally and understood that sometimes he had to do things on his own. And he was the first to do all this. He was the first to make Castiel feel like a person again. 

The phone rang.

Castiel dove for it, quickly pushing the correct button after he'd memorized them all. "Dean, I don't care what they said, it's all wrong," he blurted out rapidly, afraid the other would hang up, "I don't care about their rules or what they think I need, I can speak for myself. Just please don't leave again, Dean. Please." He knew he was probably over-reacting, but Castiel felt like it was important that Dean know all of this. Castiel may only be fourteen years old, but at the same time, Castiel was already fourteen years old. Though he was younger than Dean, he was completely capable of making his own decisions about his life. No matter what Michael though, Castiel controlled who he wanted to hang out with, what he wanted to do, and even what he wanted to eat. Though he never had the need or want to exercise this control before, he did now. Now he had Dean. Now things were different. "How am I supposed to see without my light?"

Absently he smoked, his wrist bent in carelessness. It was a wonder the cigarette didn't drop onto the bed sheets. Though, he would have been grateful for the opportunity to die. He had set fire to a house before, and killed a woman. Would it be any different to set fire to himself? 

The dope had quelled the throb of his lip piercing, and the nausea had subsided. He was left with a pleasant, warm feeling, like a blanket that covered him not from the outside but the inside. It was warmth that emanated from the drugs pumped into his bloodstream. The best kind of warmth. 

When he heard Castiel's frantic voice on the other end of the line, it sounded far away. His consciousness was uneven, therefore he only processed a few words. "Light? Cas, you're blind. You're not supposed to see?" He completely missed the sentimental metaphor the boy pitched up. "Please, just talk to me until I fall asleep?"

"Of course, Dean," Castiel agreed eagerly, happy that it was something he could easily do. At the same time, his heart dropped immeasurably. Dean's voice sounded wrong again in a way that Castiel hadn't heard in months, since before his accident. He wished more than anything that he knew where Dean lived. He had this niggling fear in the back of his head that he would be on the phone with Dean when something horrible happened and he wouldn't know where to send help. He wondered if the 911 operators could trace a phone number that didn't belong to the phone the person was calling from. 

Through all these thoughts, Castiel talked. He spoke about mindless, silly things, like he Dean used to before he left. He talked about stubbing his toe that morning because Gabriel had moved the kitchen table three inches to the right. He talked about how some of the girls who walked him around were determined to get Castiel into some mascara for reasons he would never understand. He talked about how he's never been to the beach, but always dreamed about the sounds of the gulls and the smell of the ocean. He talked about anything that he hoped would be a safe topic. He stayed away from things like Dean's month long absence, or the kisses they'd shared that day. Mostly, Castiel just hoped that he was helping.

Smoke furled in grey tendrils above his head; he had neglected to open his window on account of the snow that had begun to fall. Luckily Dad was still passed out. Whenever he smelled cigarettes, Dean got a beating that left him unable to breathe right for days. He truly was pathetic, in more ways than he could count, near seventeen and still letting his father touch him. But he wasn't counting now. When only the filter was left, he snuffed it out on the back of his hand, leaving a blurry, dark red circle of charred skin. It was stupid, because everyone would see it. Heroin made him unable to think through actions like that, and he hissed in pain for just a moment before that nice fog of warmth swelled back up to brace him. 

Sighing contentedly, he responded to Castiel here and there in the conversation. Mostly it was mhm or awesome. There was naught else to say, and he had nothing to contribute or bring to the table. As he listened to the bird boy describe various settings-- things he had heard about the ocean, the kitchen, the stupid pretty girls that wanted him in drag--his mind traveled. Consciousness was better when he wasn't engaged in it. Heroin gave him an incredibly power to be cradled in between. While he was far off on that beach, looking into blue eyes above the sound of waves, he could hear Castiel speak presently, could smell the smoke that hazed around him.

"'m lonely... 'm lonely here... Cold, snowin... didjou see it's snowin?" He rolled over now, curled his bare legs up against his chest. He was above the covers but lacked the energy to move beneath them. And somehow kept forgetting Castiel's blindness. "'f you were here we'd make cocoa... 'n watch movies 'n hold hands..." He was silent for a long while, despite it feeling like a continuous speech, before he admitted, "Prettiest fuckin hands I've ever seen. Hmm."

"T-Thank you," Castiel answered, a blush creeping up his face. The conversation had opened in such a way that he might be able to get away with asking where Dean lived, but Castiel was terrified that it would make Dean close off and shut down. He had the scariest way of pulling up walls that he'd let down before. In the end, Castiel was too cowardly to ask and settled for a generic, "I'd love to do that with you sometime." It was pathetic and it made Castiel want to punch himself, but keeping Dean in his life was more important that trivial information like where Dean lived. Even if he knew, Castiel wouldn't be able to get there on his own. Gabriel or Michael would have to talk him, or he'd just have to go home with Dean, but after the way he ran today, Castiel was afraid it would never happen.

"You have the most amazing voice you know," Castiel said, wanting to return the compliment that Dean had given him, but there was very little for him to go on, "It's smooth and low, but at the same time there's this gruff rumble to it. It's like thunder and lightning in one voice." He had no idea what Dean looked like, unable to see him and too afraid to ask for permission to touch him. He could feel Dean's basic features like he could feel his own. The bone structure, how big his forehead was, how far his ears stuck out. He'd wanted to for a long time, but never had the courage nor the opportunity to ask him. 

At that point Dean had fallen asleep, and completely missed the compliment. He had also forgotten to set his alarm to get to school in the morning, and was woken by a groggy same who informed in that Dad was still passed out. By the time Dean sat up, the boy was gone. Every muscle, bone and limb felt stuck in sleep, and he would have known it was the drugs had he remembered he had taken any the night before. The conversation with his brother as well as the one with Castiel were entirely erased, though he knew at least he and Sammy were on alright terms. 

He cracked the window in his room so that some air would break the staleness. Aware of the need to get his brother on the bus and go to school himself (the motions of it were both strangely instinctive and unfamiliar), he reached into his closet and yanked the first pair of pants he could find out of the hamper. It was the ripped all black pair, too thin to block the cold and too tight to be appropriate at school; he kind of enjoyed wearing these because all the girls-- popular or not-- eyed his junk. At least that was one area of his body he had no shame over. Over the tee shirt he had worn to bed he layered a tattered thermal, maroon, and a plaid flannel. The peacoat was on the floor where he had left it and suddenly he remembered that he had a million pounds of delicious drugs.

Sam called his name from down the hall and he bid Hang on! He took the time to snort what was maybe an entire gram of cocaine, grabbed his cigarettes and lighter off the desk, pushed his bare feet into the neon-yellow vinyl leather boots and took off. He never looked in the mirror, too busy making sure he had wallet and keys, and forgot that he had both pierced his lips and cut his hair. Another new addition was the black polish on his nails. He wasn't sure how that had happened, either, but he kind of liked it.

Getting Sammy on the bus was easy. After that he walked himself to the local bus stop. Since the high school yellow buses had long since passed, he had to take the town bus to school. When he arrived he was geeked out, had rubbed black eyeshadow on so heavily he looked like Night Owl, and smelt of a Prada-dipped ashtray. It seemed the peacoat still held enough of Sebastian's sick perfume to last him ten lifetimes.

It wasn't until he was halfway to the school that he remembered Castiel. It was a flutter in his chest like knowing your unwrapped toys from Christmas were waiting at home. He couldn't wait to get there and play. Unfortunately it was the end of second period, the boys had opposite schedules and totally different subjects. The only possible time to see Castiel without jeopardizing him (somehow the words for his sake kept entering his spun, speedy mind) would be lunch. Dean adamantly skipped whatever period he had then to surprise the kid. That was the cool thing about his being blind.

Feeling boast and confident from the coke, he approached the table with swagger and smiled at the petty bitches. "You girls might wanna find a different table." Standing, he slid a hand over Castiel's shoulders. He felt much like a dark knight himself, with his coat collar turned up and his bangs sloppily falling over his black-lined eyes. "This one's taken." 

Castiel talked a little while longer, though he knew that Dean had fallen asleep. His even breathing through the phone made him smile, and Castiel hoped that we was having good dreams. He had no clue what time it was when he finally hung up and went to sleep. He felt distinctly groggy when Michael came in to wake him, and knew that it had probably only been a few hours ago. Castiel dragged himself out of bed, going to the dresser himself. He had started picking out his own clothes the best he could a few weeks ago, knowing that his brothers wouldn't be around forever to dress him. His shirts were pretty easy to tell apart, based on the feel of the fabrics, but his pants were harder. They all just felt like denim. Castiel reached towards the bottom of the pile until he felt the sticker on the new pair that Gabriel had given him. They were a little tight, but his older brother had insisted that they looked good, claiming that it was the style and that they were called 'skinny jeans'. Castiel yanked them on, before he went back to his shirts, looking for his favorite. It was a soft Henley that Gabriel told him was a dark red. Finally finding it, he pulled it on, going back to his bed to sit down and tie his sneakers. 

"Who're you trying to impress?" Gabriel teased as soon as Castiel walked into the kitchen, ruffling his hair. "No one," Castiel said with a blush, trying to flatten his constantly unruly hair. That was, of course, a complete lie. He'd dressed with Dean in mind, hoping to see the other boy today. He'd sounded really bad again on the phone, but Castiel trusted that he would come to school. He ate his breakfast as quickly as possible, not wanting to miss his bus. He nearly tripped over his bag where he'd left it at the front door, unzipping it and feeling around for where Dean had put his glasses and cane inside. He slipped the glasses on his face, unfolding his cane to go outside and wait for the bus. "Knock 'em dead, kiddo," Gabriel called as the door closed. Castiel groaned, wishing suddenly that his brothers weren't so into his life.

Being in different grades and having different classes, Castiel knew that there was no way he would see Dean unless the other sought him out. He spent all his time in the hallways listening for him above the din of everyone else rushing to class. He could barely smell anything over the heavy perfume that one of the girls had on today that nearly made him gag. Ever the gentleman, he'd been polite about it, pasting on a smile and letting himself be escorted through the halls. He really hoped that the girl wouldn't be sitting with him today for lunch, because he doubted he'd be able to get through it. They dropped him off at their regular table, far away from the one he used to sit at by himself. He tried to stand again, and get his own lunch like he used to but they just shoved him down again, reading off the menu for him. He sighed and told them what he'd like to eat, handing them his money. He was perfectly capable of getting his own lunch, and had been for most of the year before they showed up. Sometimes Castiel got tired of the constant attention. He remained quiet a they talked around him, uninterested in their superficial conversation. Then a familiar voice came from behind him. A smile took over Castiel's face as he turned to look in the direction that it had come from. "Dean!" he said happily, "What're you doing here? Don't you have class?"

"Eh, don't matter 'nyway." He was planning to fill out the forms necessary to legally drop out of school within the month, and had told no one but Bobby and Benny. They were the only ones who supported the decision based on age and experience, taking into consideration the factors at play. Dean often felt like a puppet in his own life, unsure of why he had been born when clearly nobody wanted him. Yet to bear this news to Castiel would be to deliver purposeless burden.

As he pulled a chair out and slammed down into it, he eyed the girls with a fierceness that spoke only of defiance and protection. Yesterday he had felt thankful his muse had mindless animals to walk him around the building. Today he hated them-- the way they smelled, straightened their hair, wore knock-off designer perfume and Uggs. It mattered little to Dean what good they could do for the boy, and only that they least him the fuck alone so that Castiel could be sworn his. Fittingly, if he could have sliced both their hands open and meshed their blood as one, right there, he would have. It was illogical, seeing as they'd known each other less than three months. 

To test the stuff they were made of, Dean slid his chair closer to Castiel's, the arm around him drawing him in. Black-lined olive eyes bore into those of the bossiest-looking girl, the diagonal trio of silver piercings causing him to appear more predator than not. Pointedly holding eye contact, he pressed his nose against Castiel's pale cheekbone and kissed his jaw. "Bird," he whispered daringly, before turning that pale face in his hand and meeting their lips. The whole scene went beyond whatever effects the drug had. Much of this hastily-developing relationship was real, founded in some compulsion, some desire that wouldn't die. 

The most relieving part, as he rest his pompadoured head upon his boy's brown crown, was that he knew there was a switchblade tucked into the breast pocket of his coat-lining. If anyone, be it one of the girls or other students in the building, tried to call either of them monster, animal or fag, he would stick steel into their jugular so deep they would cease to spit the whole word out. 

That being, his free hand entwined with the fingers of Castiel's cast-arm as he blatantly asked them, "So... what're your names, anyway? And why'd it take you so long to get interested in him?"

Castiel couldn't stop the smile on his face when he heard Dean sit, a blush rising at the tips of his ears when he felt the other boy put his arm around him. Maybe last night had just been a bad night. Maybe Castiel didn't have to worry. Everyone had a bad night once in a while. After all, Dean seemed completely alright now. Castiel sucked in a breath when Dean was suddenly so much closer, his nose ghosting along his cheek as he felt his lips against his jaw. His eyes fluttered closed behind his glasses as Dean turned his face to kiss him properly. Castiel’s heart soared. Dean didn’t regret what happened. Dean still wanted to be around him. Castiel could feel a new piercing on his lip, and refrained from pressing their lips together too hard, not wanting to hurt him. He was blushing furiously when Dean pulled away, completely surprised by the blatant show of affection. He’d never taken Dean to be that kind of person, despite all the hand holding that had gone on yesterday. Looking back, Castiel supposed he should have expected something like this after the bus. He ducked his head in embarrassment, and to hide his too wide smile as well. He held Dean’s hand happily, noting the slight accusatory tone he took on when he started addressing the girls around him. 

The bossy brown haired one spoke for the three, as expected. "I'm Ariana, this is Clare and Ashley." 

"Sorry," he chuckled, looking at the tiny blonde. Undoubtedly her vagina was as powdered as the best of them.

"Wait... what for?" She feigned a smile, but by the looks he was receiving from the girls and the majority of the cafeteria, everyone was frightened of him. Perhaps simply because of the way he dressed and carried himself-- they did live in an area on the border of suburbs and town, so there were plenty of plastic people. Aside from that, people could be terrified at the audacity of it all. Here was Dean, a junior, approaching a blind and timid freshman sexually. This, to those prying eyes, was like the story of wolf and sheep.

"Ashley's are always dumb bitches." 

Ariana gasped, "Don't speak to her that way." 

He shrugged, picked his head up, legs sprawled out under the table. The yellow boots were shaking incessantly with the horse power of pure cocaine, while his arm remained calm and centered around the hollow bird-bone shoulders. "I don't gotta speak to anyone any way, 'n you're certainly not gonna tell me so. You're no one's keeper here." 

It was then he cracked a crooked smile and loosed his hand in Castiel's briefly enough to remove his ugly glasses. Blue eyes were revealed, it made him quiver. "That's better," came out just a whisper, before he returned to those pig-faced sluts. 

"What grade're you guys in?"

"Tenth."

"Oh, that's why you didn't notice him, huh? Poor little freshman, let's see if he can handle himself before we swoop in to save him." He chuckled again, so bitter he could taste bile in the back of his throat. Or maybe that was stomach acid from not having eaten in over fifteen hours. "Too fuckin late."

Ariana directed her question and attention to Castiel. It was so important to her, she even leaned in, a perfectly pained hand on the table. "Are you sure this isn't the guy that cornered you in the bathroom?"

Defensively, Dean recoiled. Both hands slammed on the table. "The fuck're you talkin about 'n how the hell d'you even know about that?" Green eyes were firelight, the makeup and black polish accenting the attitude. 

She smiled slyly, clearly trying to play him at his own game. Sadly, he couldn't even see how pathetic he was, to feed into the traps of peers years younger and far dumber than he. "Oh, Castiel tells us things. Looks like you two aren't so close after all..." She smiled in a coy way and he felt his hand twitch, ready to reach for the switchblade. 

Castiel felt his glasses get removed from his face and was immediately self conscious, turning his head down slightly. He listened intently as the girls and Dean spoke, not entirely comfortably with the way the conversation was going. He didn't enjoy the way the girls, whose names he now knew, were speaking to Dean. They were rude and mean. He could hear the defensiveness in Dean's voice. He could also hear how most of the cafeteria had gone relatively quiet. Castiel could almost feel the eyes on them. 

His head snapped up when he heard them mention the man from the bathroom, staring the direction that they'd spoken from. He never told anyone that but Dean. Not even Gabriel. The only people that knew about that were Dean and the driver who'd saved him. The driver. He'd mentioned that he had a daughter in the meaningless small talk between Castiel's house and the train station. He wouldn't have... Then again, it's only natural for a man to tell his family about his day. Castiel jumped slightly when he heard Dean's palms slam down on the table, the vibrations echoing through the cafeteria. Suddenly he felt himself full of anger, standing quickly, his chair falling over behind him.

"Don't speak to Dean like that," he said, his voice firm and much louder than he ever usually spoke, "Dean was there for me when no one else was, definitely before any of you deigned to think me suddenly intriguing. I'm blind, not deaf, and I can hear when you lie about me. I never told anyone what happened that day, save for Dean. I don't know how you heard about it, but you have no right to hand out personal knowledge about my life. Especially not after you stood by for months, laughing as I was teased and made fun of. You're all shallow and superficial and I would chose Dean over any of you in a second." Castiel stood there, panting after his outburst. He didn't dare try to sit down again, knowing the chair had fallen over. He had no idea what to do, never having done anything like this before.

He and the girls across the table had been the only ones in the cafeteria. Dean saw red up until the point when Castiel stood his ground. That broke the tunnel vision momentarily, and he was able to get his bearings. Putting the chair upright and hauling Castiel's bag over his back, he spat at the girls, "I dunno what the fuck you were plannin on doin with or to or for this bird, but he's not yours to parade around any more. You don't get brownie points for helpin the blind kid out!" He was screaming now, though completely unaware of his own volume. Those eyes that had been following them had become silent observers, witnesses in what could be the beginning of the unravel. 

Fingers laced through Castiel's good ones. As he swung around and led Castiel out he kept his head slightly turned, senses alert and waiting for a reaction from those stupid cunts. They stood fairly motionless, though Dean doubted they were through with their ridiculous chatter. No exchange of words was necessary between him and the boy, who escaped the large room in good time. Instead of leading them into another room or hallway, he brought them out of the building through his favorite back door. Thankfully his usual spot behind the dumpsters were empty. A light snow crunched under his boots as he lit a cigarette and put it in his mouth. 

Castiel had no coat, seeing as he had come from the cafe. With the smoke in his mouth, he shrugged out of the bookbag and coat, wrapping it around those narrow shoulders and buttoning it so it wouldn't slide off. Then he took that precious face in his badly shaking hands and said, "I'm proud of you, you know that? Huh?" He was as close as could get without burning his milk skin. "Are you okay? Cas? You okay?" His words came out as erratic as his movements, and he backed away from the boy as quickly as he had pressed against him. 

Somewhere in the back of his still coke-spinning head he heard the words for his sake. The response was an irreverent am I scaring you yet?

Castiel eagerly followed Dean out of the cafeteria, ready to get away from the prying eyes he could feel on his back and the girls who were using him for their own benefit. He'd known the whole time of course. It was the only explanation for why they'd suddenly decided to help him out. It was still pretty jarring to have it confirmed though. However, his words weren't a lie. He would choose Dean over any person in this school without even thinking about it for a moment. He hadn't yet met one person who was worth keeping around except for Dean. He'd never felt the way around anyone that he felt around Dean. His stomach fluttered and his heart beat insanely in his chest as he was lead through the halls.

The air outside was cold and he could hear snow crunching under their feet. Castiel had always liked the crunch of the snow. It was crisp and fresh and it was easy to hear where everyone was. He heard Dean light up a cigarette and sighed inwardly. He wasn't willing to ask Dean not to, not after he'd defended him, and not if the other boy enjoyed it. It wasn't that bad of a habit anyway. It could be worse. He felt Dean's jacket drop around his shoulders, the fabric warm and smelling of smoke and Dean. He wiggled around, slipping his arms into the sleeves of the coat, pulling it a little closer around him, a shy smile on his face.

"I'm alright," he insisted softly, nuzzling subtly into Dean's hands around his face. He took a step closer to Dean when he stepped away, plastering their sides together. He wanted nothing more than to simply be close to the other boy after being away from him for so long. "Thank you," he continued, "For coming to see me today." Castiel was still a little disbelieving that it had happened at all. He didn't want to expect it, especially since he knew that Dean was supposed to be in class, but he couldn't say that he wasn't happy about it. School didn't seem like it was very important to Dean, and Castiel knew that it wasn't for everyone. Besides, it didn't really measure a person's intelligence.

Why did Castiel always have to thank him? Presently it irked him, brought on slight resentment. "I don't deserve to be thanked, Cas. You'll see that sooner or later," he said chidingly. He was pacing now, back and forth in the inch of snow. The cigarette tasted perfect, but would be crisper and cleaner if he had an opportunity to blow more. It was difficult to recall exactly the last time he had any. Was it this morning? Was it on the local bus? In the bathroom before finding Castiel? All of his endeavors were piling into one, and he felt similar to when he was with Sebastian. That man had put him in a complete amphetamine psychosis, which had led to countless terrible things. There was no reason he couldn't put himself in that position again.

"'m gonna fuckin kill them", he whispered to himself, not realizing the other could hear him. The trees far off that surrounded the school were all a bare, dark brown. Some held snow on their limbs. The sky above and around them was a pale grey. Snow scented the air even though it didn't fall. All these facets of nature, of the present moment, were taken for granted because of his mental and emotional state. 

That was when he knew what he was going to do. If it didn't work, he would fall back on the original plan-- to bring in his dad's pistol (or maybe the shotgun instead) and shoot all those mother fuckers who bothered him and his muse. 

Suddenly there was a familiar voice. Garth and one of the girls had come around the corner, wanting to have a toke in the same spot. Dean greeted them kindly, and for the moment forget how close the skinny guy and Meg were. He forgot to be angry because surely Garth knew about Sebastian using him, at least by association. It was better that nobody brought it up. The pair spoke warmly to Castiel, too, and the scent of their marijuana calmed Dean just so. When asked if he wanted any, he had to Deny. Doing drugs in front of the freshman was off limits. Nevermind that he was told to refrain from being around him if he was high. That had slipped from his mind long ago; the reason he had left the house that day wasn't because he was high, but because he held a sell-able amount of pills in his coat lining.

When they finished up and sneaked back inside the school, Dean escorted Castiel to his next class. He was a few minutes late, but the teacher didn't seem to question it. There was no mistaking the whispers that arose when eyes caught sight of Dean Winchester in the threshold. Turning and making off down the hall he rolled his eyes. Who were these stupid ninth graders to have any say in who or what he was? He knew what they called him. Monster. Fag. Fairy. Junkie. Don't go near him, he's probly fucked everything within a 10-mile radius! It made no difference what they said, or that half of it was true. It shouldn't have bothered him, but it was beginning to get under his skin because now it wasn't only his image at stake, but that of Castiel's. He had no desire to taint the purity of a boy two years younger, with a full life to live.

Towards the end of the day, after having blown another chunk of sally off the brick, he cornered Ariana in the bathroom. She was with the little one, Ashley, who simpered and stood aside. His switchblade was pressed up against her throat, his forearm pressing her against the tiled wall by the chest. Each shaky breath from the girls or aggressive slam of his boot echoed throughout his brain-- or was it just the acoustics in the girl's bathroom? He had no idea what words he spit into her face. It was impossible to hear himself over the din in his head. Ashley tried to run once, and Dean caught her in the face with the blade, opening her cheek. She screamed and sank onto the floor as if mortally wounded, before turning back to the boss. He wiped Ashley's blood across her painted forehead and continued to breathe threats into her.

Without warning he was taken from behind, Mr. P and another large man knocked him down. The high made him entirely vigilant, and despite the lack of warning, he lashed out at them, spinning and kicking from the floor. At seventeen Dean was six foot and still growing, but his thinness gave him a disadvantage against two well-fed officials. Luckily he had a little muscle and managed to stab one of the men in the leg before his arm was twisted in a way that forced his hand to open. He dropped the knife and began to bite at the hand that held him.

Ashley and Ariana were walked out carefully by a woman who worked in the guidance office. They were sobbing as they left, and Dean began to laugh. The AP bound his wrists behind him with a twist-tie, claiming that he was a danger not only to others but to himself. Apparently police had already been phoned, and the guy that Dean had stabbed limped his way to the elevator, presumably to get to the nurse. The adrenaline of this fight, as well as his chemical use, had him screaming random obscenities as he was led down the hall and into one of the offices. He wanted everyone in the building to hear him, to know that he was coming back for them, even though this would probably be his last time in the building.

"I normally don't make the suggestion," the principal said. Police stood around, the AP's and a social worker all cramped into one room, looking down at him. He made for a sorry sight, what with all his make up and hair, nail polish and clothing. Like something out of a Fall Out Boy music video or Vogue Italia magazine. "But it would be better for you, considering where you are both academically and behaviorally, to withdraw from school. If forced to expel you or condemn you to juvenile jail I will. I would rather not do that-- which is why I am giving you the opportunity to atone by resigning. You won't be banned from entering school grounds again, but will not be allowed in the building under any circumstances."

The papers were all signed, the boy's heart still palpitating painfully in his chest. Heads of students peered out from behind locker doors and classroom walls, and his stomach ached, and his head began to swell with an awful feeling. These were cops. Cops. He had cocaine on him, right now. Cigarettes even though he was not eighteen. Had just stabbed a school official and some random chick. There was no way out of this, and certainly his father wasn't going to bail him out if he did wind up in jail. Could it be that finally the act was up?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel listened to Dean pace, deciding it was better that he stand off to the side and let him work whatever anger was still inside him out of his system. He felt a little touched that Dean felt this way on his behalf, but confused as well, seeing as Castiel himself didn’t feel that way. He decided he’d stay quiet, listening to the crunch of snow, smelling the crisp air around them. It was probably going to snow again later, based on that. 

Voices came around the corner, one he immediately recognized. The boy, whom Dean greeted as Garth, had been behind him in the hallway once when Dean was and had called him creepy. It had actually been the first day he and Dean had officially met. They girl’s voice he didn’t know as well, but they both treated him civilly and he smiled in return. It was obvious by the way they smelled that they’d been doing drugs, and he was a little taken aback when they offered Dean some. Though the other boy had refused, there was something about his voice that made Castiel think he usually wouldn’t have.

They stood with Garth and the girl for a while before the next class began and Dean led him back inside to take him to the room. The hallways were mostly empty, considering the bell had rung a few minutes ago, but Castiel didn’t mind. A few minutes wouldn’t kill him, and he was glad for any time he could get with Dean. As Dean opened the door and ushered him inside, Castiel could hear immediate whispers coming from his classmates. The teacher, however, made no verbal comment as he found his way to his seat. Moments later, they were assigned pair work with the person behind them.

“You know who that was, don’t you?” someone said from behind him. It took Castiel a moment to place the voice. It belonged to the normally quiet boy who sat behind him named Chuck. It took Castiel even longer to realize that the other boy was addressing him.

“Yes, I’m well aware of who I walk around with,” Castiel responded, his voice a little icy as he took on the defensive as he turned to face him. He hated how people assumed he was absolutely helpless.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Chuck said, sounding sheepish, “It’s just that, if the rumors are true, Dean Winchester is one of the fiercest people in this school.”

“You shouldn’t put all your stock in rumors,” Castiel answered back, “Dean is a very important person to me.”

“Is it true what happened in the cafeteria?” Chuck questioned immediately, shuffling some papers around as the teacher handed them their assignment, “Did he really kiss you? Did you really tell off those vapid bitches who swarm around you?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered, surprised by Chuck’s seemingly innocent interest.

“Whoa,” Chuck said, the smile easy to hear in his voice, “This is some great stuff.” Castiel could hear scribbling as Chuck rushed to write something down.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, his head tilted in confusion.

“I’m writing a book,” Chuck admitted, “And I feel like you’re a pretty worthwhile character to include.” 

Castiel smiled and they spent the rest of the period talking as they completed their work. He regretted not knowing Chuck much earlier, as the other boy was enjoyable to talk to and be around. He didn’t seem to particularly care that Castiel was blind and Castiel hoped they’d become friends. Just before the period ended, the assistant principal came over the loudspeaker, declaring that there was a Code Blue in progress. If Castiel remembered correctly from freshmen orientation, that meant a medical emergency. 

When they were finally allowed back in the hallways, Castiel heard hundreds of stories floating around him. The only common factor they had was Dean. Castiel bit his lip in worry. Some of the stories he heard sounded downright vicious, and he couldn’t believe that Dean was capable of some of the things they claimed. Castiel made his way to his next class, for once without the cloying scent of perfume around him, and hoped that Dean was alright and would come find him soon.

The crash happened sometime in the afternoon, when he was sitting at the station being questioned by a few calm, older men. There were two older than his father, and one maybe a bit younger, with an eager face. Everyone was standing, aside from the greyest one. Not only was he asking questions, but also filling out some questionnaire. 

At first it was just a fatigue behind his eyes. Then came the anxiety, the realization that the high was fading. For him, that was the worst part. This physical feeling-- the heart irregularity, the thirst and headache-- was a cue. Normally he would receive this information from his body and immediately search out a place to snort or ingest. This evening, afternoon, whatever it was, he had no such convenience. The anxiety pervaded him until it became crippling, coupled with depression. He wasn't ready for this, at all.

"When we searched you we found two grams of cocaine--"

"Bullshit, you only found one." His coat had been confiscated, the rest of the clothing either too tight or too big. He vaguely remembered the look on Castiel's face. When? What had happened today to get him here? There were flashes of things, but he honestly couldn't remember enough to puzzle the pieces together.

The grey man nodded solemnly. "We found one gram of cocaine, and an empty baggie with cocaine residue. It is implied that you entered the school building today with two grams. We also found..." The laundry list of items and infractions went on until it felt like he had been listening for years.

"What time is it?" He finally interjected, thirst and hunger hankering him. Though the physical symptoms were bearable, compared to the depression that had come to sit upon his shoulders. Depression at being held against his will, at being in trouble, at not being high, at not being at work, at not being able to do what he wanted to do with his time. If he recalled correctly, he had intended to hang out with Castiel this afternoon. Somewhere along the lines he blew every possible chance of that happening.

Or of ever seeing the boy again.

When it came to the sentencing (that's what it felt like, but it was really more of a one-sided dialogue), the officer who had done the most questioning said, "Due to this being your first offense legally, and due to your compliance with the school administration to drop out, we are willing to assign you one-hundred hours of community service, as well as ten hours of a substance abuse workshop. You will not have to do any time, as you say, or pay any fines... Judging by your family's status and the fact that only your uncle Bobby would pick up the phone when we called, it seems you're not in a financial position to pay ugly fines for what you're doing." He frowned, added, "Not sure where you're gettin all the money for drugs, though."

"Workin at the auto shop," he offered dully.

The man squinted. "Likely story." Clearly he didn't believe. 

They let him take his coat-- empty now, without even his lighter-- wallet and cell phone. There was nothing left that belonged to him, apparently. As he left the station, still looking like the biggest block-buster thief of the summer, he phoned Benny. Part of him wanted the comfort of a friend who already knew his entire trajectory; the other part of him just really didn't want to take the local buses home. 

It was dark out. He found the nearest convenience store and showed them his fake ID (it was hidden behind the lining of his wallet). Against the cold brick siding he smoked cigarette after cigarette until Benny showed up to drive him home. The air was cold, but the snow had mostly melted or drifted off. Everything was dry and brittle, and even the smoke felt thin inside his lungs.

Benny listened patiently, as Dean knew he would. As a child would, Dean snuggled up against the large bear as he drove the truck. He had half a mind to suck his thumb. The guy's barrel-chested southern drawl soothed him half to sleep. "This too much goin' on witchu lately. Changin yer hair, piercin yer own face, gettin way too fucked up t'even remember-- and that's not countin all the shit you told me bout Sebastian... Hell, I think we oughta be countin our blessins you didn't bring in yer dad's silencer and burn em all to Hell!" 

Dean didn't admit he'd already thought of that.

They talked about the possibility that Dean might be kicked out, about how he hadn't spoken to John since that day. They agreed to keep everything that was spoken between them; the boy prayed his father wouldn't find out, that somehow he could keep his legal trouble and obligations under wraps, though he doubted that a possibility. They also discussed what to do about Cas.

"The brothers said some shit about... for his sake stay away from him if you're high, if you've got drugs on you you can't come inta the house... I dunno, man, I just... He's the only thing I want."

A long beat passed while only the sound of the stereo reached their ears. Then, "'s not true. There's plenty you want in this life, you just gotta prioritize it." He pulled up outside the tiny Winchester house. As Dean climbed down his arm felt cold where they boy had been cuddling. "And, Dean?"

"Yea?"

"I had to do that, when I was sixteen, too.... Prioritize the shit I wanted from what I really wanted for myself, for my life... All's I'm sayin is... It's possible. 'n despite how you look, how haggard you look after the first time you told me bout him, I still believe in you."

With a heavy sigh Dean resigned. He walked into his house to find Sam and John watching some television program. His brother greeted him, his father said nothing. Hungry and feeling the weight of his exhaustion, he grabbed a box of crackers and headed to his room.

In the same tee shirt and boxers he had been wearing yesterday, he ate what he could, smoked and listened to a Brand New album that always soothed him. This night it was depressing. He half wanted to engage in the drugs he still had left, hidden at the bottom of his closet. Yet there was a willingness-- based in some fragment of positivity-- to stay sober just for the night. It wasn't likely that he would last until the morning without taking anything, but at least for the hour he could not.

Sleep took him sometime after midnight, and that's when the nightmares began.

Dean never came to find him and Castiel grew increasingly worried as the day wore on. The older boy’s name was constantly bounced around the hallways and in the classrooms with over a hundred different versions of what happened. A group of seniors insisted that Dean had stabbed someone in the bathroom over forty times before running out of the school laughing. A clique of junior girls said that he had sex with a freshman before murdering two people in the girl’s bathroom and shooting himself up full of heroin. Castiel refused to believe any of it, all the stories sounding completely far-fetched. That is, until he heard one of the girls who had been at lunch with him today. 

“Yeah, he totally like threatened our lives in the cafeteria right before he kidnapped Castiel, who was obviously on something to have acted like that,” she was saying. Castiel slowed down, people bumping into him slightly from behind as he came to an unexpected stop. “He probably shot the poor kid up to the gills with drugs. Anyway, so we were totally like ‘Umm what the hell?’ and then next period, Ashley and Ariana when to the bathroom together,” she went on, “And he freaking came out of nowhere and like came at them with a knife. I swear, they texted me the whole thing on their way to the hospital. Then he got dragged away in handcuffs after being forced to drop out of school.” 

“Hey, don’t listen to them,” Chuck said as he came up from behind Castiel, “I’m sure you know him better then anyone in this goddamn school.” Castiel nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to doubt Dean. He truly wanted to think the best of the other boy. However, Dean never came to see him after lunch and it made Castiel worry. He followed Chuck dazedly through the halls to his locker, surprised that the other boy knew where it was. 

“Do… do you see him anywhere?” Castiel asked quietly, a small bit of hope rising in his chest. He could hear Chuck looking around as the crowds in the halls thinned out.

“No,” he reported quickly, “I’m sorry.” Castiel shook his head, feeling tears at the corners of his eyes. This was his fault again. He’d heard Dean in the cafeteria and out behind the school, but he never actually thought that Dean would go so far as to attack anyone. Castiel just knew that it was because of him again. Dean just wanted to protect him the same way the Castiel wanted to try and protect Dean. Tomorrow was Friday, and if Dean didn’t show up, at the very least Castiel would know that something had happened. He wouldn’t let himself believe all the stories in the hallway about murder and drugs. He wanted to hear what happened from Dean himself. 

Rather than take the bus home, Castiel decided he would rather ride home away from his peers, who would undoubtedly still be talking about the excitement at school. Chuck led him to a bench and sat down next to him, taking out a notebook to write in as they waited. Castiel called Gabriel. His older brother had started working from home ever since Castiel had gotten injured. He felt a little guilty about it, but Gabriel insisted that it was better for everyone. It gave Michael the chance to get out a little more at the very least. He and Chuck sat quietly for a few minutes, the latter waiting for Castiel to get picked up before he left.

“What’s your book about?” Castiel asked quietly after listening to the other boy scribble on a piece of paper.

“Everything really,” Chuck said, fabric shifting as he shrugged his shoulders, “Life. Things I see in my dreams. People.” 

“Make sure to put out a Braille copy when you get it published,” Castiel said with a small smile, “I want to read it.” Chuck let out a hearty laugh, squeezing Castiel’s shoulder.

“Just for you buddy,” he agreed with a nod. Gabriel pulled up then, honking his horn obnoxiously. Castiel shook his head, biding Chuck goodbye as he tapped his way over to his brother’s car. 

“What’s up little bro?” Gabriel asked, “What’s with the pickup?” Castiel simply shook his head, not ready to tell his brother what everyone was saying happened. He knew that Michael especially already didn’t entirely approve of Dean, and he didn’t want to give them another reason to dislike the older boy. He could feel Gabriel looking at him and chose to stare straight ahead, ignoring what were no doubt extremely worried looks. 

Castiel went straight upstairs when he got home, diving into his homework to distract him. He finished everything in only a couple of hours, even reading ahead in English and history. Sighing, the young boy leaned back in his chair. The words from people in the hallways swam around his head. Murder. Drugs. Sex. None of that sounded like the Dean he knew. Castiel frowned. Being completely honest, maybe it was. Castiel didn’t know anything about Dean’s life away from him. The way he sounded sometimes on the phone definitely supported drug use. He was also a good deal older than Castiel and had no doubt engaged in sexual activities before. However, none of this daunted the young boy. He still believed that if Dean could be different around him, then part of him truly was good. Maybe Castiel could just help to make that part more prominent. 

Castiel stayed quiet at dinner, his brothers talking in circles around him. He tried his best to follow the conversation and offer his input, but Dean kept circling around his head. He wanted to call the other boy, but figured that if any part of those stories were true, he wouldn’t want to talk or wouldn’t be able to. Sighing quietly, Castiel pushed his food around his plate, undoubtedly knocking some of it onto the table. He sat with them for a few minutes longer before excusing himself from the table. Not caring what time it was, Castiel decided to just go to sleep, the phone forming a familiar bump under his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Come find me. Come find me, retard. He was in a well lit-field. The sun was at midday, birds chirping and tall grass blowing about. It was hard enough for Castiel to move as it was. He had no cane or glasses, no cast either. Dean moved around deftly, and each time that his stupid mewling quim drew near, he stepped out of his reach. What are you, dumb? I'm right over here! This went on for a length of time before he saw two shadows approaching them from the far side of the field. 

Sebastian was holding him at gunpoint, Castiel bound on the floor beneath him. Fuck him. Go ahead, you know you want to. Look at those pretty eyes and those thick lips. The blonde stepped forward, kicked the boy's face in. Prettier with a little blood, right? Fuck him or I'll shoot, you lying prick!

His mother crying out for him, after he lit fire to the curtain, which flared up behind him. The last thing he saw was her melting green eyes before he was scooped up by his father and hit in the gut. He was a teenager, sprawled out and coughing up red. You did it on purpose, sick sonofabitch! I told her we shoulda never had you! 

You're gonna mistreat him sooner or later, Dean. We all know it. I'm sure even he does. Sammy's voice, his tiny precious face looking up. And Michael's authoritative din directly after. That's precisely why we provided you the ultimatum, Dean. You've failed our test, you've failed him. You may not consider him a part of your life any longer. 

He woke drenched in sweat, his pillows and blankets wet to the touch. It took him a moment to register his physical symptoms. A splitting headache, entire body shaking violently. Immediately upon waking, he ran into the bathroom to vomit. The window above him showed that it was still dark outside, sometime very early in the morning. Sinking to the floor, he wondered what was happening to him. Dad's voice again, in waking this time. The front door slammed and Dean felt a sudden chill. The first thing he did was jump to his feet-- more of a stumble-- to check that none of his cutting scars could be seen. He was only in the tee shirt and boxers, but thankfully it was enough. That was a secret he had kept from Dad since he was twelve. 

John found him in the well lit bathroom. The toilet flush was the only sound between them as those dark eyes bore him up and down. "Wash your fuckin face! And then explain to my why the hell I've got an assistant principal and three police calling my phone!"

They were at the kitchen table, Dean seated feebly, still trembling like a fevered animal. He had done his best to explain the situation. He was being pushed around again, it just set me off, I... Dad didn't care about the reasons, though. Dean's face was red and raw by the time his father was done hitting him, but he remained in his seat. The man seemed to tired to offer him a full-scale beating tonight. 

Sam had been woken by all the noise, and cast his brother a concerned glance. "Are you sick?"

His father answered in his stead. "Yes, Sam, now get out!"

The screaming cascaded, swelled and died several times. Dad played the voice mails for him, each in turn. By that point Dean was starting to regain energy. The pieces of the puzzle were becoming a bit clearer, certain elements having been revisited in his nightmares. Unexpectedly, the teen was on his shaky feet, bellowing at his father. "Who are you to tell me not to drop out? Were you ever there to support me when I struggled? Help me with homework, show up when they fuckin called you cause I got in trouble? No, the only discipline I got at home was you kickin me around, 'n that's exactly where I got the fuckin violence from! Fightin with you! It was your goddamn knife I stole 'n took to school, anyway! So what the fuck are you sayin I can't drop out, I'm sixteen, I'm the one who's been raisin myself and Sammy, you've done nothin but drink and disappear!"

He was on the floor being beaten, bile and blood coming out of his mouth. Nearly choked him, but he regained his feet. Everything about him was overworked and thin, his muscles tense and nose bleeding. Sam had retreated somewhere, probably into his bedroom to lock the door. Presently Dad was asking about the drugs, where they had come from and if there were more. Of course Dean lied, but to no avail. He physically fought with his father as the man turned his room upside down, unearthing all the coke, heroin and pills. They were flushed down the toilet as was his puke, and the cigarettes were crushed into shreds. He managed to grab hold of his cell phone in the process, protecting at least one thing that linked him to the world. It was tucked between his sock and bony ankle, where it wouldn't be jostled out if Dad kept knocking him around.

Dad did more than knock him around. He got out the pistol, held it to Dean's face and watched him dress and pack a bag for himself. The whole time screaming about I'm not going to be insulted by the boy who murdered my wife! I've struggled enough without you, you've only made it worse. How dare you bring drugs and violence in and out of this house, do absolutely shit with school and still expect me to help you? I never want you to set foot in this house again, and you're not to speak to Sammy, either! At those words he began to scream for Sammy, beg to say goodbye to the boy he had sacrificed his own childhood to raise. Silently he prayed, as the boy darted beneath the gun and fell into embrace, that he had taught the boy enough to stay on the right path.

All Dean packed was what he could fit in one medium-sized duffle bag. He pulled on pants and a large sweater, shrugged into his coat and stared the gun down at the front door. "Do it," he growled. His boots felt strange on his feet, his pants too loose, coat too heavy. "Just do it. You know you want to. The only reason you won't is cause you're a coward." 

The pistol hit him so hard in the temple that he fell to his knees. His father literally kicked him out and slammed the front door. Daylight was beginning to break above the trees, all dark and dead. As he picked himself up dizzily, he realized there was no need for tears. Not only had he been delivered everything he deserved, but between the pain and astonishing sight of reality, he was too numb to feel.

So he began to walk, ringing Benny until he finally picked up. In a voice as dry as the winter air about him, he said, "It happened, officially. He found out about everything. Flushed the drugs, beat me up and kicked me out. I've got..." He was too ashamed to admit that his head was bleeding badly, and it caused him a queasy feeling. If he didn't make it, the world would be better off. "I'm doin the walk of shame to your place. I don't think the buses have started up yet, 'n I can't go to school..." 

Benny agreed to pick him up at a particular intersection, and Dean thanked whatever fucked-up God there was that at least he could see his friend and get a hit. Maybe some cigarettes, too. It was too much to be walking down a cement sidewalk with naught but two sad boys and a twisted lyric stuck in his head. die young and save yourself.

Castiel shot awake, sweat covering his forehead. He could barely remember his dreams. It was a huge cluster of unidentifiable noise, Dean's voice rising above the rest. It had been cold, calculating. Nothing like the real Dean. He could remember the cruel words. Disgusting. Weak. Blind faggot. You're a burden to everyone around you. He could remember feel the cool press of a sharp object against his throat before pain shot through him, wetness seeping into the front of his clothes. Castiel wiped the corners of his eyes angrily, willing the tears to stop. Before he knew it, the sobs were clawing his way out of his throat. He was so afraid. So afraid that something bad had happened to Dean. Afraid that the other boy would leave him. Afraid that some of those stories were true. Gabriel came in moments later, rushing to Castiel's side.

"Hey, hey," he whispered soothingly, "It's alright. It was a bad dream, everything's fine." Castiel leaned into his brother's arms, waiting until the crying finally subsided.

"C-Can you give me the phone?" he asked quietly, holding his hand out. Gabriel fished it out from underneath his pillow.

"Who do you want me to call at this hour?" Gabriel asked, unsure if anyone would be awake this early in the morning.

"Will you call Dean?" Castiel requested, "Please. I just... please." Gabriel nodded wordlessly, forgetting for a moment that Castiel couldn't see as he dialed the number. He handed off the phone to Castiel and left the room as he listened to it ring.

There were few people out and about in this section of town so early in the morning. Benny was thankful for that, because when he pulled to the curb he found the kid slumped against a tree, covered in blood. Dean was completely out of it, by looks and sounds. The bear was dressed warm for the morning weather, and his icy eyes spoke of a dutiful father who had been woken to help the child. Despite that he was only on the up side of twenty, he managed his affairs well and carried himself maturely. 

Once Dean was inside the vehicle, conscious but quiet, Benny called his close friend Ana and put her on speaker. She was twenty-three, had just got off her shift at the hospital, "Can ye come to my place 'n work yer nursin skills on my buddy hea? He's in a bit of a rut 'n I gotta be honest, I don't think it's legally safe for me to take'm to the doctor's..." He gave a little more insight as to why and she agreed tenderly to come over.

It took nearly an hour for her to clean him up. Dean would forever remember her soft, rounded features. Big brown eyes, wavy auburn hair, worried lips and shapely breasts. She was unphased by it all-- the nosebleed was a simple fix, the head wound wrapped and his shirt changed. She even saw the horrendous pattern of scars across his ribs and torso, and merely said Oh. Dean appreciated her silence, and how she helped him get into a new shirt and out of his pants. In boxers he was let over to Benny's couch, where the guy had fixed some simple food for him to eat. Ana said she would need to leave soon to sleep (she worked nights), but jotted down a few rules for the bear. One was that Dean needed to stay awake in case of concussion. And absolutely no interfering drugs for a 24-hour period.

Dean rest upon Benny, who clicked on the television and encouraged his thin friend to eat. They sat together like this for a while, and it was only then that Dean thought to check his phone. He had felt it going off at some point, but had been so vague-minded that it was impossible to act. Now he slid the phone from his sock and saw that Castiel had called. His heart skipped its usual beat, and rather than return the call he looked over at Benny, whose body he was pressed against lovingly.

"I think I've started somethin with this kid I can't keep up with... It's like.. through all this, it's like these past few months have been the worst possible time to get to know him..." Dean sounded as calm and numb as he felt, which spoke of the measure of injury, inside and out. "I've forgotten that I'm enraptured by him. There's all this other shit standin in the way 'n it's like... The second I get close to him, I'm thrown back. Like, how'm I gonna work through this shit? I don't think I can be with him... We aren't even together yet, but I feel like we've been datin for months." He looked to Benny with desperation.

The pale eyes shimmered as he smiled. "Just call him back 'n stop worryin. You could use another friend, or maybe a lover, just stop overthinkin every damn thing and live."

Every time I try to live I get in trouble, he wanted to say. Maybe that's why I wanna die so bad.

He dialed the number and let it ring, Benny's pine scent filling his nose.

Castiel heard the phone ring over and over in his ear, eyes almost filling with tears again at the sound of the voicemail. Castiel hung up the phone without leaving one and put it back under his pillow. He scooted back until his back hit the wall, hugging his knees to his chest. He stayed like that until he finally slumped over, asleep again. Thankfully, the nightmare didn't return. 

Gabriel came in to wake Castiel up for school, feeling a little guilty because he knew his younger brother hadn't gotten much sleep. He shook the boy gently, unseeing eyes blinking open. "Time to go to school, kiddo," he said gently. Castiel rubbed his eyes, pausing to turn his face back in the direction of his pillow as he sat up. Gabriel knew that the phone lay underneath and figured that Dean hadn't picked up last night. It was only to be expected, after all it had been sometime after three A.M. Castiel got ready slowly, not at all excited to go to school when he knew that Dean wouldn't be there. Sometimes these feelings scared him, how violently and fervently attached and protective he felt. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced, and almost too intense for him to handle. Running a hand through his hair, Castiel packed up his things and went downstairs, forgoing breakfast to go outside and wait for the bus by himself.

"Hey Castiel!" an excited greeting was waiting for him as the driver helped him off the bus. Castiel smiled when he recognized Chuck's voice.

"Good morning, Chuck," Castiel responded with a small nod.

"I got another chapter of my book finished!" the other boy answered giddily, going on to tell Castiel all about the chapter he'd completed. Castiel listened dutifully, walking inside the school with Chuck, stopping at both of their lockers before Chuck left him at his first class. Right before Castiel turned to go in, Chuck grabbed him by the elbow. "I'm sure he'll turn up," Chuck said, giving Castiel a reassuring squeeze, "Just give him some time to get himself together." Castiel gave what he hoped was a normal looking smile before leaving Chuck at the doorway. Dean hadn't answered last night and Castiel had no way to know why.

Gabriel was lounging on the couch in front of the television with two bags of chips when the phone rang. He sighed, as if the was the hugest inconvenience to him in a long time before he grabbed it, answering without looking at the caller I.D. "Hello," he huffed out, mouth full of chips causing the words to be slightly muffled, "Novak residence, Gabriel speaking." Part of him hoped it was Michael, just so the older could get annoyed over Gabriel's phone etiquette. Gabriel enjoyed the little things. However, the voice on the other end was anyone but his brother's.

Glancing at the Grateful Dead clock Benny had above the meager entertainment set, Dean saw it was only around 8AM. When Gabriel answered the phone (neither of Castiel's other brothers would answer the phone while eating), he smiled. "Hey, Gabe." It was nothing special, a small smile brought on by the memory of the friendly, hazel-eyed face. "Cas went to school? He called me earlier, I..." There was no reason to tell Gabriel what had really happened.

"Uhh yeah, he's gone," Gabriel said, swallowing his mouthful, "I figured you wouldn't pick up. He'd had a nightmare or something, but it was like three in the morning." He picked the remote and put the TV on mute, the noise suddenly too distracting. Dean sounded... well he sounded a little normal and for some reason that made Gabriel think something was wrong. Call it intuition. "I know you're probably just getting back to him 'cause he called, but if it's an emergency, I can give you his number," he said slowly, trying to gauge the younger man's reaction, "It's one of those weird Braille phones, so he can't text, but he can call people if he knows their numbers."

When Gabriel mentioned it was a nightmare, Dean quipped, "Bullshit!" It was not said with any malignancy, just disbelief. "Not sayin I know him well, but he's never mentioned nightmares before..." Based on what he and Benny had talked about so far this groggy morning, Dean's nightmare had been triggered by trying to sleep without using any sort of drugs. His body was showing all the warning signs of becoming dependent, or so the older friend said.

"Anyway, thanks... It's not an emergency but I figure I'll call him back just to 'suage him." They said their goodbyes and Dean chided, "Here goes nothin." Benny huffed a bit of laughter as he watched the morning news. Pale light filtered in through the cheesecloth blinds. The apartment was clean, but smelled of incense. Dean loved that he was here, pressed against a nice caring body. It didn't matter that he'd been kicked out, he was thankful he had a place to stay. A lovely woman had cared for him and left him with a friend. Maybe this would be a good thing, though he felt uncomfortable without drugs. If it weren't for the head injury, he would have been anxiously itching for a hit. The idea that his father had flushed everything would cause him anxiety at some point.

Castiel sat in class, listening raptly. Most of the time, he typed his notes with the special typewriter that he had installed in each classroom, but it was loud and Castiel didn’t want to call any more attention to himself today. However, that dream was extremely short-lived. From inside his bag, his phone began to ring loudly. He was so surprised, it actually took him a minute to realize that it was his phone. No one ever called him. No one besides his brothers even knew that he had the phone. Castiel muttered an apology to the teacher, grabbing his bag and cautiously making his way outside the classroom. He sat down on the floor next to the door and dug around until he felt his hands close around the ringing device. 

“Hello?” he said curiously. He couldn’t even remember any of his brothers actually calling him on this phone and was entirely confused as to who would be calling him now.

When Castiel's voice floated through the line, Dean couldn't help but give a tiny grin. He could imagine the haphazard way the boy answered the phone in class and hurried somewhere to answer it, thinking it was one of his brothers. Feeling slightly above, slightly at an advantage-- part of the problem with this relationship being that Dean arrogantly considered himself impressive to the boy-- he said, "Hey, bird. Gabe said you had a nightmare. Figured I'd call 'n see what's up. You never mentioned nightmares to me before..." 

"Dean," Castiel said, a huge smile on his face. He had no idea how the other had gotten his number but figured Gabriel had had something to do with it, especially considering Dean knew about the nightmare he'd had. Hearing his voice like this, his real voice, kind words and gentle tones, made him already feel better. Castiel bit his lower lip, unsure if he wanted to tell Dean exactly what his nightmare had been about. "I don't usually have nightmares," Castiel said slowly, "I usually don't have dreams at all. This was the first in a long time. I'm sorry I called you so late. I just... I wanted to hear your voice." 

"That's cool... It must have been a really scary dream. What happened?" He liked the opportunity not to mention his own, not to mention the night that he had had. Benny shifted beside him, got up to get himself a cup of coffee and returned, letting Dean sink against him. The guy worked evenings at a record store, and was off from college classes until later in the month.

"Uhh..." Castiel hesitated, tugging at the hem of his pants from where his knees were up against his chest again. He didn't know how Dean would react to Castiel accidentally having a nightmare about him, but he knew it wouldn't be good. At the same time, he wasn't sure if he could bring himself to lie to the other boy. "Nothing really," he tried, "A bunch of stories were going around school yesterday and I guess they stuck with me more than I thought. Not that I believed them." He tried to be as vague as possible, praying that Dean didn't want more details.

The explanation genuinely peaked Dean's interest. "Oh, stories about what--" There was no need to ask, because the answer came upon him like a bug. "About me? Shit, Cas, you wanna know the funny thing? You were in my dream last night, too." He had no reason to mention it was a nightmare. Maybe he could convince the other boy that he dreams had been pleasant and endearing, if only to comfort him. Beside him Benny chortled, and it wasn't at the news.

Castiel smiled, his head ducked down. "Really?" he said, genuinely interested, "That's so funny." He stayed quiet for a moment before his voice took on a more serious tone. "You're not coming back to school, are you?" he said quietly. It was a phrased like a question but sounded but closer to a statement. "I don't mind," Castiel rushed to reassure him, "It's your life to do with as you please. It's just... it was the only place I got to see you."

The way the question was asked nearly sent him into a tailspin. He noticed his head hurting and touched it tenderly where the bandages were. "Cas, I didn't choose to leave." Though it was true he had been considering it anyway. It made him feel defensive, knowing that Castiel was basing his assumptions off gossip. "Whatever you heard, it's..." He scoffed. "Whatever. I don't wanna talk about it now. Just tell me how you are, please, and when I'll see you again." He was at least going to try to commit to knowing the boy better, to living as Benny had suggested, instead of holding himself back out of fear for how the other would be influenced. Ironically, or at least he felt it was, he wasn't breaking any of the brothers' rules right now.

"I would love to see you whenever you're free," Castiel answered immediately, blushing at his eagerness, "I mean, I very rarely have prior engagements as I'm in no clubs and have very few friends to speak of." His heart nearly flew out of his chest at the idea that Dean wanted to continue their... whatever their relationship was, Castiel wasn't sure. They'd kissed more than once, but they'd never technically given anything any labels. At the very least Castiel knew they were friends, but he also knew that one wasn't supposed to feel the way he felt about Dean about their friends. He didn't feel that way about Chuck at all. 

"Good. I wanna see you this after--" Benny elbowed him and said blatantly you need to rest and not go out in public, brother. Dean commenced to oblige him, seeing as this was the person who would shelter him for however long. "I can't see you this afternoon, but we can talk again tonight." There was a tinge of guilt tugging at him at the thought of getting off the phone. Without planning it he admitted, "Some of what you've probly heard around school's true. Just depends on what those motherfuckers' sayin..." He gave leave for Castiel to respond and then said, "I hope you have a good day, at least. Go home after this and take a nap. Bye, bird. I'll call you tonight."

Once off the phone he saved the braille number into his cell. He and Benny spent hours alternating between talking, watching tv, and eating. The elder read a lot, but suggested Dean do as little as possible with his mind for now. They were by no means out of the woods yet, with any of it-- the emotional or physical or mental issues at hand. The green-eyed amalgam continued to thank his friend, as if this were some pitiful therapy session. Truly it was fun, and wholesome, and Dean had wished this change had taken place years ago.

"I would never take their word over yours, Dean," Castiel answered when he brought up the rumors going around school, "When you're ready, you can tell me what happened if you want to." As curious as he was, Castiel didn't want to push Dean past his comfort zone. He murmured a goodbye as Dean hung up and slid the phone into his pocket. He was a little disappointed that the other boy couldn't see him that day, but he squashed it down. If Dean needed time to rest, then he would get it. At least he'd promised to call, which would much easier since he now had Castiel's number. He remained on the floor for a moment, navigating his phone quickly to set Dean's number as the fourth speed dial. Just as he finished, the bell rang and Castiel pushed himself off the floor to get to his next class. 

The day passed slowly, even more rumors being passed around than the previous day. More of them seemed to involve the cafeteria incident, and every time Castiel heard someone mention it, he felt a strange surge of embarrassment and anger. He didn't want Dean's name in these people's mouths, especially if none of them really knew what happened. Chuck kept him company in every class that he could and in the hallways and Castiel spent his lunch period in the library. His phone created a comforting bump in his pocket, Dean's voice being only a click away. It gave Castiel a small smile that he carried on his face almost all day beneath his large glasses. 

Chuck waited with him again to get on the bus, and Castiel was immensely glad for the other boy's company. He reminded Castiel of a small rodent, very excitable and talkative. He was currently singing the praises of some girl in one of his classes that Castiel had never heard of named Becky. Castiel teased his new friend lightly when suddenly the warm sun that had barely been peeking through the coldness of the cloud cover was gone from his face. Someone was standing in front of him. 

"Aren't you going to apologize?" a girl said rudely, Castiel recognizing her voice as the one from the lunch table and the hallway. Clare. 

"Apologize for what?" Castiel inquired, not remembering having done anything wrong.

"For sending your goddamn psycho on Ariana and Ashley!" Clare exclaimed, a little hysterical, "Not to mention you hurt our feelings."

"I sincerely apologize that you don't know how to deal with it when someone speaks their mind," Castiel retorted icily, "I am not your plaything to be dragged around. I am a person."

"Wait until my father hears about this," Clare hissed, "He's going to sue you for everything you're worth."

"Oh yes, I'm sure that suing the blind kid who's been physically, emotionally, and sexually harassed all year while you stood by and watched will go swimmingly," Chuck jumped in, his voice overflowing with sarcasm. Clare huffed angrily and the shadow was gone from Castiel's face, the barely warm sun on him once again. 

"Thank you," Castiel said, turning his face towards Chuck.

"What're friends for?" Chuck said, giving Castiel a friendly slap on the back. Castiel smiled widely. Though Chuck was no Dean, he was certainly a wonderful friend to have around.

Gabriel cooked Castiel's favorite for dinner that night, hoping that his sleep wouldn't be interrupted like it was last night. His little brother never did tell him what the nightmare had been about, but it had shaken him up pretty badly. However, since he'd come home from school he'd been all smiles. Gabriel figured that the conversation with Dean must've gone very well, but to his surprise, Dean's name never came up. Castiel spent all of dinner talking about his new friend Chuck who was trying to be an author. The three older men were immensely happy that Castiel had finally made a real friend who wasn't using him for something. None of them quite knew what to label whatever was going on with Dean and so they avoided it, content with the fact that the older teen made Castiel happy. Castiel took his phone with him everywhere that night, even into the bathroom when it was time to shower. He did so as quickly as possible, not wanting to get caught shampooing when Dean called. Too lazy to dig out a shirt, Castiel merely pulled on a pair of pajama pants and settled into his bed with a book to wait for Dean's call.

Around lunchtime the depression settled heavy upon him. It felt like he could barely breathe, but still didn't have enough energy to cry. Dean explained to his friend had he badly missed Sammy, more because he knew the option of seeing him again was a wash. When he had his brother to take care of him every day, he never had a chance to miss him. Their relationship just was, and that was something Dean would always regret giving up. Maybe he shouldn't have done all those drugs, he told Benny. Maybe he shouldn't have brought the knife to school. What was he thinking, anyway?

Benny made grilled cheese sandwiches for them, with pickles, chips and iced tea. He responded to Dean cautiously, not wanting to entertain his self-deprecating attitude. It was plain that there were mistakes made, but everything that was happening presently was what the kid had to deal with, and nothing else. His head injury from the beating, his new freed up schedule (Benny pointed out he should call Bobby right away to get more hours and think about taking his GED). There was no sense in hassling himself over things that had already passed, like the knife thing at school. 

After they ate, Benny took care of some school related stuff on his laptop. They talked about college. When he was very small Dean had fantasized about it. That had quickly ended, however, with John as a father. Benny had the support of his parents and older siblings, which made a large difference in his attitude and ability to care for himself. Being the baby, he'd learned all sorts of things growing up just by osmosis. The family was well-off, but not rich. They supported him partially, but Benny had worked to save money for himself since he was sixteen and used that to help with college.

Sometime just before six, Ana came by dressed in purple scrubs to check up on him. She said the wound would be able to go with only light bandaging for the night, and the by morning should be alright to let air. She checked Dean's reflexes and a few other signs, softly addressing him the while. Benny thanked her and promised her dinner for her efforts. She seemed to like that and left for work. 

Since Ana said everything was alright, Benny finally broke out the cigarettes. He didn't smoke in his apartment, so they went downstairs (there was a second apartment on the first floor) and sat on two little chairs outside. They talked about drugs, and Benny made up his mind that while Dean was with him there would be no drugs in the apartment. He wasn't like Dean, he could go with or without them. This would be a test for the former to see if he was like that, too.

The evening passed, Dean depressed and having fits of upset stomach. Benny watched him closely and they were allowed one more cigarette each before heading up for the night. They watched a movie on Netflix and Dean decided it was time he wanted to talk to Cas. It was pretty early-- only 8:30. Yet all the same, Dean wished to speak to his muse without being ass-tired or too depressed to try. At least he hadn't gotten to that point yet; Benny and Castiel were two incentives, two people who had proved themselves able to reach out to. Though, Dean figured that when Castiel found out the truth of what had happened, he wouldn't be so willing to stick around. I will hurt him, kept running through his head. Sooner or later, I will. I've done that to everyone I've ever loved.

Castiel had only just gotten to the third chapter, his hair still a little damp, when his phone rang. He reached for it eagerly, knocking it off the bed in his excitement. Groaning, Castiel rushed to slid off the bed, feeling around on the floor until his hand knocked against it. Grabbing it quickly, Castiel answered as he made his way back towards his bed. "Hello, Dean," he said happily, only slightly breathless from crawling around on the floor.

"Heyyy, baby bird." An overwhelming sense of butterflies took his gut and he knew the words about to come out of his mouth. This type of feeling always preceded the moment when he dropped a bomb for shock value only. Selfish, truly selfish. What a child he was, and would likely never cease to be. 

Sitting next to Benny on the couch, he began with the utmost arrogance and apathy. "I followed them into the girl's bathroom on the third floor, held a knife to Ariana's throat, threatened her life if she bothered you again. The other one tried to escape 'n I sliced her cheek open, fought her to the ground. Then I stabbed Mr. Mackey in the thigh for puttin his hands on me. After that they forced me to resign from school. The cops took me to the station, found a few grams of illegal shit on me 'n wrote me off for community service. Dad found out, beat me goddamn senseless 'n kicked me out. 'm at Benny's now. Just wanted you to know."

Benny looked over at Dean in pride of honesty.

Castiel was completely silent as Dean spoke, absorbing the story that he told. He was torn. Part of him knew that Dean was being completely honest with him and took pride in the fact that the other boy trusted him like that. On the other hand, what happened was so unnecessary and violent and could almost be called unstable. Part of Castiel was scared, but a larger part was excited. He'd never had someone in his life that could be qualified as dangerous and it intrigued him. It made him anxious and excited, adrenaline threatening to swarm through him.

"Thank you for being honest with me Dean," Castiel began slowly, not all that sure of what he should say, "And I'm sorry for what's happened with your family. Thank you for doing something like that to protect me, but I don't want you to do things that get you in trouble. I feel like everything that's happened is my fault." He paused for a moment, trying to think about how to continue. "Please also thank Benny for me, for helping you."

Currently, Dean leaned over and said, "He thanks you," to Benny, who responded kindly. "Did'ju hear him? He said no problem, sweetie." The sweetie was Dean's own, thrown in. His depression was taking him to a careless place. Again he was on the edge of badly wanting Castiel and also badly wanting to push him away. This reminded him of the time outside Bobby's shop, when he spoke chidingly to try and get rid of the kid. But he'd been hit by a car and that's how this whole mess started.

"It's not your fault, you need to understand that. 'n quite frankly, doesn't matter what you want or don't want me to do to protect you. That's the typa shit I've been doin for years, 'n I'll do it with or without you. That's reality, 'n if you think you're gonna have an easy time makin' a boyfriend outta me you're nuts. I'm not boyfriend material, I'm shit. Benny could tell you, half the school could tell you... Decide what you want with me. For your own sake." He giggled. "That's what your brother said. That for your own sake I can't be around you when I'm high, can't come in the house with drugs or take you to parties. Not like I was plannin to, but... I dunno."

Castiel was quiet again. They were finally discussing the nature of their relationship. "I want whatever you're willing to give me," Castiel said softly, unsure if Dean even heard him, "I don't care whatever other people say about you, or even what you say about you. All I care about is how you are with me, because that's what's going to matter most no matter what the nature of our relationship." Castiel didn't want to push Dean anywhere, but he knew he wanted something. He bit his lip, a little nervous about what Dean would say.

"And I'm sittin here tellin you straight up that the number one person I cannot protect you from is myself. I've been gentle n kind to people before, I was that way with my brother n he still ended up hurt, same thing with my mother, but she ended up dead. There's parts a me you're not even gonna wanna look at, n you know what?" He reacted quickly to Benny pulling a certain face at him. The bear whispered this aint the kinda conversation you wanna have over the damn phone, Dean. "I don't wanna talk about this over the phone. We're gonna have to see each other to really figure out what the fuck we want. Cause I don't think you know what you want from what you need."

Castiel nodded eagerly before he remembered that Dean couldn't see him. "I think that's a good idea, but I also think that I'm old enough to decide both what I want and need," Castiel answered, his heart beating erratically at the thought of seeing Dean again. "Is there somewhere you would like to go? I'm sure Gabriel would be okay with bringing me to see you." Castiel's mind was filled with nothing but Dean, remembering the feel of their entwined hands, Dean's lips pressed softly against his own, soft murmurs of affection. "I'm free tomorrow."

Being the type of compulsive person to adopt tunnel vision at the slightest cue, his jaw set and he said, "No, now. Let's see each other now and get to it."

He glanced over at Benny, who seemed resigned and unaffected. He muttered to himself that Dean couldn't hear because of Castiel speaking on the other end of the line.

"I..." Castiel hesitated. He didn't know what time it was, he wasn't even sure if his brothers were even awake. "Alright," he finally said, "Where should I meet you?" He could find his own way there if he had to. He was going to see Dean. Gabriel had put more emergency money in the book in Castiel's shelf and he could use that to order another car if he had to.

Between their looks and whispers, Benny agreed to drive him over, but the boys would only have ten minutes to talk before Benny would drive off. Seeing as the brothers were fairly traditional in their wants and house rules, it was highly doubtful that Dean would be allowed to stay the night. Besides, it was a school night. 

"Benny'll bring me. We'll be there in twenty."

"Alright," Castiel repeated, "I'll be waiting outside." They murmured their goodbyes and Castiel put his phone down on his desk. He climbed slowly on top of his chair until he could reach the clock on his wall. He had no idea why Michael put it up so high, because Castiel could only use it if he could feel the hands. It was late, but not completely unreasonable. However, by now Castiel knew that his brothers would be locked away in their respective rooms, doing whatever it was they did late at night. Castiel went down the stairs as quietly as he could, not wanting anyone to wake up or come outside. He grabbed Michael's keys from the bowl and opened the front door, locking it behind him. He didn't remember until he was outside that he never put a shirt on and the cold air surrounded him. He thought about going back inside, but he didn't want to risk missing Dean. Besides, it would only be a few minutes at most. After barely any time, Castiel was shivering, unable to stay outside. He opened the door and went back into the warmth of the house, grabbing the first coat he felt on the hook and slipping it on. It was far to big but it was warm and comfortable and Castiel happily went back outside to wait, snuggling into the jacket.

Benny spoke in paternal tones the entire ride over. "What're you even gonna tell him?" 

"I'm gonna tell him he's fuckin stupid to think he wants me. I'm the worse thing that could ever happen to him, and that's a fact." Dean spoke as though he was angry, which Benny didn't understand. He asked about that, too, and got an excuse. "I'm angry cause he deserves more!"

"No," his hands were patient and relaxed against his steering wheel. They had each smoked a cigarette on the ride over, despite the limit Benny had set them. Was he doing the wrong thing enabling Dean to start or indulge in this scene he had created? "You ain't angry cause he deserves more. Yer angry at cho-self cause you caint be the boyfriend you wanna be for him. Every time you think you gotta plan you fuck it up, 'n that's not somethin I believe, I'm usin your own words. You fail to realize that you're the one in power here. You either decide to step down, be friends and nothin more, so shit doesnt even have the chance to go there, or you let it go there and hate yourself."

"I'm not in control." He was quieter, calmer. Benny's words had translated into something that made sense in his head. "I've never been in control, Benny. That's the problem. Look at me." Gesturing, he caught the icy eyes flicker towards him. The boy was wearing pyjama pants-- a pair of Benny's-- and an oversized flannel. He wore his peacoat over that, collar up. His three piercings maximized how tough his head bandages appeared. But those olive eyes were sad, sorrowful, hateful diamonds. 

"I knew you wasn't, n I was fraid you'd realize't all along."

When they pulled up, Dean stumbled out of the car, his strides too large and fast. It was as he made it across the stiff, brittle grass he realized he'd forgotten to put on boots. That didn't seem to matter any more than the other things he had forgotten. Some had come back to him in the past twenty-four; namely the details from the incident at school, which was the deciding factor in disclosing the details to Castiel.

In keeping with being out of control, he took one look at the bird in the trenchcoat, which went down to his ankles, and said, "You don't want me. I'll ruin you, 'n you're stupid 'f you think you can handle it."

There was nothing underneath the coat, meaning Castiel rushed to see him as well. Without hesitation, because the boy looked so good, Dean aggressively pushed the coat open to see the startling pale skin beneath. There was a tiny mole above one button nipple, and the development of abs and ribs under the skin that spoke of Castiel's fourteen-year old metabolism. Dean gripped the boy's hips so tight he might have left claw marks, and began to bite his neck. The down feather smell sent him off, and he sucked and nipped his way up to Castiel's plump lips. His hands freely traced and pressed against the boy's lower abs, wanting more. When he felt Castiel try to move, he shoved him against the siding of the house, sure this was the right thing to do. 

Hadn't Benny said to live and not think? 

Hadn't Benny also said he was completely out of control, after the action he had taken after that?

Castiel shifted from foot to foot, listening for both a car to drive up and one of his brothers coming towards the front door. One he didn't want at all and one he wanted more than anything. Finally he heard a car stop in front of his house, eyes snapping towards it. He tugged the coat a little tighter around himself in the cold air as he heart feet crunch their way through the grass. In seconds, Dean was in front of him. He spoke harshly and before Castiel could even open his mouth to respond, he felt the front of his jacket get shoved away. A surprised gasp left his lips, mostly from the chilled air suddenly on his exposed skin. He felt hands hold tight on his hips, teeth against his neck.

"D-Dean," Castiel breathed out, unsure of what was happening but almost positive that he didn't want it to stop. Instinctively, he let his head tilt back, allowing Dean more room against his neck. The older boy's lips traveled upwards, Castiel breathing getting more labored, until finally Dean pressed his lips against Castiel's. Castiel kissed back as well as he could, a gentle whine escaping the back of his throat when he felt Dean's hands tracing his barely-there abs. As much as Castiel was enjoying this, it was insanely intense and he moved back slightly to get some air, only to have Dean's body follow him, shoving him into the side of the house. 

"Dean," Castiel said again, voice wonderfully breathless, face flushed, heart racing, "I think I'll decide what I can handle, and if that makes me stupid, then so be it." Castiel's body was flooding with adrenaline and he wanted nothing more than to be with Dean for as long as he could, every second that he could. 

Dean pulled back only when Castiel had spoken his piece. Even then, he blinked confusedly. "You think you know what you want. You keep sayin you're fourteen n you can make your own choices, but I gotta be honest... When I was fourteen I made some of the worst mistakes of my life, n they've followed me around for two, almost three years now. I can't decide for you, n I'll love you either way, but..." 

Benny had once said to him that anything that came after but was bullshit. If Dean wanted to love this boy, then that is exactly what he intended to do, at all costs. He had already done that to a degree. Yet a part of him felt that the lack of control was going to drive the relationship into the ground sooner than either of them could imagine. 

Forcefully he pushed Castiel against the house, his tall body leaning heavily against the smaller. Hands pried everywhere they weren't welcome, sneaking into boxers and into the coat sleeves to feel exactly what the boy had to offer. Any normal fourteen year old would be tipped off right away that something about this was wrong. Though, Dean had been touched like that before, and had let it happen for only one reason: he enjoyed being in danger.

Castiel felt a slow smile starting to spread across his face as Dean spoke, turning into a full out grin when the other boy admitted that he'd love him no matter what decision he made. It was exactly what Castiel needed to hear. What he wasn't ready for however, was the hard push against the house quickly followed by cold, roaming hands. Castiel let out a soft yelp of surprise, shrinking back against the wall slightly when frosty hands slide below his boxers for a moment. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and Castiel felt more alive than he ever had before. Taking a chance, more with himself than with Dean, Castiel let his hands go up, dragging along Dean's chest as he headed for the other's face. He let his fingers gently and quickly map out Dean's face, his piercings, his lips. His fingers slid into what was left of Dean's hair on the sides, tugging his face down into a bruising kiss, his aim better after just feeling where Dean's lips were. He could just barely feel the edges of a bandage, and remembered what Dean had said about his father beating him. Castiel's touch became a little more gentle, not wanting to hurt Dean further. His heart was pumping in his ears, his thoughts filled with nothing but Dean. He wanted to get impossibly close, almost wishing he could simply crawl into the other's skin. No one made him feel like this and it was a feeling he never wanted to let go of. 

It didn't make sense. Why was this kid smiling and enjoying it? The last time he was touched in such a malignant, lustful way was by Sebastian. It wasn't fun after the first two times, but he had wanted drugs and been so high out of his mind that he had literally done whatever the Brit wanted. For Castiel this seemed out of character, especially seeing as he had nearly been raped in a bathroom-- twice. Whatever, Dean chalked it up to his loving danger as much as Dean did himself. 

When Castiel's brilliant hands began to trace over his own ugly features, he became alert. His heartbeat sped up and he felt the tingling in his stomach brighten. There was a tug on the bandage at his head, and it sent the teen into a tailspin. He pulled back. That was something he had forgotten about, being in such a state of bliss with getting his way. Castiel's blindness had gone unappreciated, but now that his hands had discovered that, he fled. 

"I, uh... I gotta go in a minute, Cas. Benny ain't gonna want me out here fuckin on the front lawn while he in the truck waitin." He self consciously pushed he other's hands away from his face.

Castiel let Dean step away, as much as he didn't want to. Maybe it was his hormones, maybe it was because he was young, but Castiel didn't want this to stop. Unlike his other two experiences with sexual activities, this was with someone he cared about who had admitted to caring about him in return. He just hoped that he hadn't done anything wrong to make Dean want to leave. Instead he just nodded.

"I don't think that's something I would want my brothers to see either," he said, a small smile on his face. With Dean suddenly standing so far away, the air around Castiel was cold and he tugged his coat back around himself, Michael's keys jingling in the pocket. Castiel wrapped his hand around them, tugging them out so he could get back in the house. "I'm glad you came to see me tonight and I hope I can see you again soon." He prayed for an affirmative answer. He would be alright with them doing anything, as long as he was with Dean.

As if to test him, because the little smile was too unbelievable, he stepped closer one more time and brought Castiel's hand to his head. "It's from his favorite pistol. He's whipped me with it plenty times before..." He brought Castiel's hand up under his thermal and tee shirt and pressed the fingers against the bullet wound. "This is where he shot me when I was ten. I'm sayin... that kinda shit don't happen without makin the kid fucked up. I need you to understand that I... Cas, I am the monster they say I am." 

If only the boy could see his green eyes, no makeup, face freckled. In this lighting and circumstance the piercings looked completely out of place. Dean was completely terrified, and sadder than he'd been in years.

Castiel gently fingered the wounds, feeling the scarred skin beneath his fingers. "The problem with monsters," he said softly, caressing Dean's scars, "Is that they often think they're far scarier than they are. But when you stand your ground and show them that you aren't afraid, that you care, most of the time they're not as scary anymore." He raised himself up onto his toes, wrapping his arms around Dean's neck as he placed a soft kiss to his cheek. "I'm not afraid of you Dean and the sooner you realize that, the sooner whatever this is becomes much simpler." Inside, Castiel was terrified. Terrified of being pushed away again, shut down, rejected. He knew that it was entirely possible, no matter how Dean said he felt because the other would think he was going the right thing. "Let someone care about you," he whispered, fearing that he was going too far, but figuring it was too late now anyway, "Let me care about you."

With a sigh of resignation, of defeat but no less fear, he said, "This is it, then. I've warned you. And, you're my boyfriend. At least... that's what I'm gonna start thinkin of you as. 'n it's a shame, I..."

Benny called him from the car window. He took Castiel's jaw in his hands and pressed their mouths together, hard at first and then faint. He embraced the boy tightly, the way a man would to a petite woman, inhaling his hair and kissing the crown of his head. "Goodbye."

Then he was gone, back in the passenger's seat of Benny's truck, begging for a cigarette and being denied.

Castiel's heart soared and he hugged Dean as tightly as he could when he felt the other boy's arms around him. Boyfriend. Castiel was Dean's boyfriend, and Dean was his. It was more than he'd let himself hope for. He listened to the car pull away from the curb, standing outside for another moment before unlocking the door and going back inside, unable to erase the smile on his face.

"Well that was quite a show," Gabriel said from behind him. Castiel jumped, nearly missing the bowl that he'd been putting the keys away in.

"What're you talking about?" Castiel tried, slipping the coat off to put back on the hook, hoping that maybe Gabriel was just using a tactic to try and find out if anything actually happened.

"Don't play innocent with me," Gabriel said, crossing his arms, "Not when you have a huge hickey blooming on your neck." Castiel's hand flew to the spot where he remembered Dean's teeth first sinking into, pressing the skin slightly to feel that it was indeed beginning to bruise.

"I'm going to continue seeing him," Castiel said, wishing his voice was a lot more forceful but unable to yell at his older brother.

"No one said you couldn't," Gabriel said, ruffling Castiel's hair, "I just want you to be happy, and if he makes you happy then that's fine. Promise me you'll be careful. I know people can't be all bad, and you shouldn't listen to rumors, but that kid doesn't have the best reputation."

"There's no need to, but I promise," Castiel agreed, turning around to go upstairs and go to sleep.

"Oh, and if he hurts you, I'll murder him," Gabriel called, his voice sounding cheery and enthusiastic. Castiel just shook his head and continued on to his room, falling asleep almost as soon as his face hit the pillow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Benny was playing Jeff Buckley the whole ride back. Of course Dean told him everything that had happened, from the tests he'd given in the short period of time to the fact that they were now considered boyfriends. "I dunno, man, he's too sure about this. It scares me more than I scare me."

The bear laughed. He didn't have much to say about the whole thing, but Dean knew he likely would later on. "You've kept me up quite a while tonight, Dean. All day, really." It was true; he'd had to come pick the boy up off the sidewalk around seven in the morning, when he would otherwise have slept. Then he had to watch Dean, keep him awake, so that he wouldn't fall asleep and die of the possible concussion. "At least I know we can both get some rest now."

But Dean's sleep wasn't restful, and it wasn't like he could crawl into Benny's large bed to fight the nightmares. This one he had to deal with on his own. There was a cognizant understanding that these were merely symptoms developed as he tried to sleep without drugs. And right now he would have done nearly anything to get a fix, even call Sebastian. The mixture of emotions and physical ailments was enough to break a man. How could he survive this latest tragedy? His father kicking him out, subsequently abandoning his brother and gaining a boyfriend. None of it made sense, which caused the anxiety to mount as he lay there trying to solve all of his life's problems in an hour.

Around three in the morning he woke again from another nightmare, this one about some man Sebastian had sold him to. Well, not sold him to, but given him permission to use for the night in Sebastain's wicked penthouse apartment. Manhattan lights shimmered outside in the pale pink, pitch black sky and Dean was ass up face down being railed by some bastard named Crowley. He was from the same part of town as Sebastian, and had brought him a shipment that the blonde intended to have Dean pawn off throughout the month. 

The sweat was one thing, the shakes another. Dean did not handle feeling physically weak very well. There was only one antidote to this malady, he decided. And that was to call Castiel.

Castiel slept happily, dreams filled with Dean's voice and Dean's hands. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this happy. He nearly didn't wake up when his phone started blaring obnoxiously from his desk. Groaning, Castiel dragged himself out of bed. Only Dean had his number besides his brothers, and none of his brothers would call him from inside the house. He nearly tripped on his way over, not remembering that he left his book on the floor. He slapped his hand down over his phone, fumbling with it until it stopped ringing. "Hello, Dean," he greeted, still a little groggy, voice rough from sleep. He cleared his throat, hoping to sound more normal next time he spoke.

His voice was as shaky as his emaciated frame and he stuttered, "I-I-I just n-eed you t-t-to talk t-to me until I fall asleep..." There was no reason for him to explain the nightmares, or what they were about. It was shameful in and of himself that he was calling, let alone that he was weak enough to beg to hear the boy's voice. He spoke in hushed tones, not wanting to wake Benny, even though the dude slept with a humming fan. "Please..."

"Of course," Castiel answered immediately, concern leaking into his voice when he heard Dean's shaking words, "Whatever you need." He immediately launched into pointless subjects, talking about how Michael always opens his blinds even though he can't see and how his clock his too high for him to use. He tells Dean about the time that Gabriel switched around all of his furniture while he was at school and how he'd been bumping into things for days afterwards. He told Dean how his shower had opposite dials and to make it hot you have to put it on the cold setting. He told Dean about Chuck, and how he truly thought the other boy would be a good friend to him and that he was writing a book. He said everything and anything that came to mind, completely understanding the need to hear someone's voice and not really what they were saying.

Dean listened more aptly than he otherwise would have. Detoxing from whatever drugs he'd been on was one factor; his mind was certainly clearer. Yet another outstanding factor in this attention to detail was the withdraw. The sickness itself was making Castiel's story as vivid as drugs would have, in a different way. Still another facet was that he truly loved to know the boy better.

Once he fell asleep he slept through until morning. Well, early afternoon. He woke on the couch to Benny cooking. It was a one bedroom apartment, with a small storage room aside. They had briefly discussed the other day how it was possible Benny could clean up that room and fit a twin sized bed, though Dean wasn't sure he actually wanted that. He missed his house, despite the atrocity it was. He desperately missed taking care of Sam and having his own bedroom and drug stash to report to.

The egg sandwich sufficed, but after the coffee and drinks he still felt a hunger within. He helped his host by doing all the dishes, while Benny watched at the counter beside him. "I never thought I'd say this... But I wish I could go to school. Just to see him." The elder laughed and made a comforting remark before leading them outside for cigarettes.

Benny went off to work about an hour later, and left Dean alone and in charge of himself. He had a spare key unless he desired to leave and come back. The limitations were don't bring anyone over, and don't do drugs. That was easy enough to agree upon, with how badly the teen needed a home. It would be difficult to uphold. 

Shortly after he was left alone, Dean removed his bandages. The welt had significantly gone down, and the gash looked closed with a scab at least. It was relieving to know he was healing, in a strange way. Not because he wanted to live, but because he was embarrassed to be out in public or with his boyfriend in such a state. 

He remembered to call Bobby, and caught him up on everything that had happened in the past few days. The guilt Bobby laid on him without any effort made the drug-related depression look like fun. It took a few minutes to hash everything out, with the old man interrupting here and there to shout orders at the other guys in the shop. They finally came to agree that Dean would return to work tomorrow-- Saturday. Beyond that he would gain hours where Bobby could give them, with respect to whatever community service they had him engage in.

Dean was taking on a lot of commitments, it seemed. To stay away from his house, to live by Benny's rules, to be at work, to be a boyfriend. Would he be able to rise to the occasion? If he could make it through this day it would be his second without drugs; that would be a miracle in and of itself. In honesty he couldn't remember the last time he had been sober, truly sober. Since he was maybe eleven or twelve he had done something nearly every day. It started very small, of course-- a beer every few days, a hit off a joint. The people Dad brought around the house, the boys he got to know at school, they had all provided him with little cues and clues here and there, about how to live life like this.

Wasn't much of a life, but what was he supposed to do about it? At seventeen he lacked the gall that Castiel did three years younger. He wasn't alright with making decisions, unless they were the self-seeking kind. Even then, there was a discomfort to it all. Dean constantly felt like he was in the wrong, even when trying to better himself. Had he been in tune with himself, he would have realized one thing he feared was that no matter what he would find he didn't belong.

The school officials had never said anything about being on or around the school campus, and Dean called Castiel's phone sometime during the day to offer a ride. Technically, an escort. Dean wanted to take the local bus out to the school and ride with Castiel home on whatever local bus he could take. The school buses be damned, they could go on their own.

Castiel fell asleep with the phone against his ear. Gabriel slipped it out from under his head and plugged it into the charger so it could get some juice in the hour or so Castiel had to get ready. 

"Rise and shine," Gabriel said loudly, jumping on the bed hard enough to make Castiel bounce halfway off it. The younger awoke with a yelp and a groan. 

"Go away, Gabriel," he mumbled, climbing back into his bed and shoving his head under his pillow.

"Aww, is little baby tired because he was up all night talking to Dean?" Gabriel simpered, pinching Castiel's thigh. Castiel slapped his hand away but refused to lift his head up. Gabriel chuckled and grabbed Castiel by the ankle, pulling him onto the floor as gently as he could manage. "Your phone is on the charger and breakfast is waiting," he said as he walked out. He paused for a moment, looking back he smirked, "And you might want to wear a turtleneck before Michael sees you." Castiel's hand flew to his neck once more, a blush covering his face.

"Shut up, Gabriel!" he exclaimed, throwing his pillow in the general direction of the door. Though he knew his older brother was right, Castiel didn't want to hide the mark. He wanted people to see it and know that he belonged to someone. That he belonged to Dean, and that Dean in turn belonged to him. Castiel decided he would skip breakfast and dressed slowly, wearing a normal t-shirt that did nothing to hide the hickey, instead putting on his coat and scarf so Michael wouldn't see. He waited in his bedroom until Gabriel called that he was going to miss the bus before grabbing his phone and backpack and rushing down the stairs as fast as he could rush. He said a hurried goodbye to his brothers, the bus driver helping him onto the bus just in time.

"Someone had a wild night," Chuck joked, giving Castiel a nudge as he put his things away in his locker. Castiel couldn't stop the smile that spread over his face.

"Dean came to see me last night," he admitted, face coloring slightly.

"Ah! Character development!" Chuck exclaimed. Castiel could hear the sounds of a notebook being ripped out of a bag as Chuck began to write. Castiel shook his head fondly. 

The day went smoothly, though he could hear whispers around him that no doubt centered around the mark on his neck. However, nothing could bring him down. Especially not after Dean called and offered to escort him home. Castiel spent the rest of the day looking forward to it. When he got his things at the end of the day, he decided to forgo the scarf, only putting on his coat which he could feel just barely hiding the mark. He was nearly bouncing in his seat on the bench next to Chuck who just kept laughing at him and teasing him lightly. Castiel just shoved him playfully, too happy to even think of a good insult.

Dean texted Benny to let him know he was going out and the apartment was locked up. The first thing he did was walk to the nearest corner store and get his own pack of smokes, to waste at his leisure. Then he texted Sam to say I miss you a lot . He knew the boy probably hated him, but that made no difference. The message that he cared had to get across somehow. 

When he finally arrived at the school building, the last yellow but was pulling away. There was no fear in him about being caught on school grounds to pick up his friend, though he wasn't sure what they would do if he were found. They had to move quickly, basically, in order to escape the risk of Dean being... what, detained? He had stabbed someone in school one time, was it really that big of a deal?

"You must be Chuck," he looked down at the two on the bench, held out his hand to shake. They kid was as scrawny as Castiel, with large blue eyes and curly golden hair. The same color Dean's hair would be if he hadn't died it so many times. His own pompadour was justly styled to hide the huge pistol gash on his temple. 

He took Castiel's hand and pulled him off the bench. "I hope you get that cast off, soon. It's an ugly reminder..." Then he wrapped his arms clear around Castiel at the waist. He was so thin that Dean could touch his own hips with his hands after they had wound around the boy. He kissed him pointedly, with eyes closed, and pulled back. "Did I do that?," referring to the hickey. 

They stayed for a few minutes and then began to walk, Dean's arm around Castiel's waist. His fingers pushed away the winter coat and found their way into the elastic band of Castiel's boxers. He had worn tighter clothing today, and tried to match. It was endearing, and Dean knew it was for him. That felt funny. Usually people didn't try to impress him; they were usually just as big a mess as he was. That was enough. 

Chuck was scribbling in his notebook, chuckling at Castiel's excitement when Dean walked up as the last bus left. He'd seen Dean Winchester before, in the hallways a few times, but it was still a little jarring to see him and remember that he was here for little Castiel. He was even more surprised when the older teen held out a hand for him to shake. He rushed to put his notebook down and stand up.

"That's me. I guess Castiel told you about me," he answered, voice a little squeaky from nerves. He cleared his throat a little before speaking again, "It's nice to officially meet you Dean." He didn't want to judge him, especially since he was so important to Castiel, but wiping away everything that he'd heard was difficult. That is, until the older teen went to talk to the blind boy. It was like looking at an entirely different person. He was gentler, kinder, more caring, but still somehow managed to maintain his overall intimidating nature. What a complex character.

"The appointment with the doctor is next week," Castiel answered softly as Dean pulled him up. He had sat as still as he could while the other had spoken to Chuck, waiting until Dean approached him. He hugged him back as well as he could with his arm in a cast and eagerly responded to the kiss. He heard Chuck cough and mumbled a goodbye before collecting his things and beginning his short walk home. Castiel laughed slightly, leaning into Dean. His laugh grew at Dean's question. "Well, seeing as you're the only one who's ever decided to bite my neck, I'm going to have to say yes," he teased lightly, trying to take away from the blush that had risen on his face, "Gabriel wouldn't let up about it, but he's okay with it. With us." Although, to be fair, he didn't know what had happened at the school, but Castiel wanted to believe that his answer wouldn't change.

They started walking away from the school, Dean's hand tight around his waist, when Castiel felt cool fingers wiggle their way past the waistline of his jeans and the elastic of his underwear. He let out a small gasp at the feeling of the cold skin against his own warm body, but soon grew used to it as Dean's fingers matched his own body temperature. He leaned into Dean slightly as the walked, a stupid little smile on his face. Everything just felt perfect. The air was crisp and fresh, Dean was beside him, and they were finally really together. "Where are we going?" he asked finally, unsure if they were walking or finding a ride, but okay with anything Dean had planned.

They had gotten to the end of the school's driveway when Dean leaned in to kiss Castiel's cheek and said, "We could do anything you want. I've got a few ideas, but depends on how okay you are with breaking your brother's rules." There was a part of him that held close what Benny had said about him being out of control. There was another part of him that vowed not to bring Castiel into danger. But who was he trying to kid? The very nature of him, his core was of danger. It would be impossible to date and love Castiel without engaging in mindless acts that could get the other hurt. He had already been responsible for the boy running off and getting hit by a car, hadn't he? Aside from that, he felt so good being in his muse's presence that he didn't want to let the moment pass without some kind of high. 

Lighting up a cigarette with his free hand, he pushed away the thought of how pathetic he was.

"My brothers do not get to control every aspect of my life," Castiel said, grumbling slightly. He understood that they wanted to protect him, but their "protection" had kept him from ever truly experiencing life the older he got. Sure, they had done things with him when he was younger to try and make him feel more like he fit in, but the older he got, the less they did together. Dean was his chance. His chance to experience things that he never has before. Besides, if he ever felt truly uncomfortable, Castiel trusted Dean to stop. Even if he didn't, a thought Castiel didn't want to think about, his brothers were only a phone call away. Castiel steeled himself, wanting to be ready for anything. He wanted to prove that he could handle himself. "What did you have in mind?"

There had been a moment of brief anxiety. He's gonna tell me to fuck off. Then he agreed to break his brother's rules, depending on the incentive. He smiled widely, and pressed his smile against that hollow cheek so they boy could feel it. Then he said, "Wanna go to Garth's place so I can re-up." It didn't register to him that his boyfriend might not know what that term meant. 

"Excellent," Dean muttered to himself. Unbeknownst to anyone else, he had been texting back and forth with Garth all day. According to the redneck, he had left school early to score and was now hanging out with some girl named Ruby, one Meg's friends. The green eyed braveheart felt a little cautious about the idea of being with people who were so close to Meg-- what if the name Sebastian came up?

They stood against the cold wild at the bus hut. Dean smoked a cigarette with Castiel in his arms, exhaling away from the petite boy's face. The bus ride over was fairly quiet, with some excited word exchange. Mostly they sat in each other's arms, necking and kissing. Daring as it was, Dean had to admit to himself that this wasn't the first person he'd fooled around with on the back of a local bus.

Garth was sitting with a beautiful blonde haired girl. They were up in the bedroom, of course. His parents were downstairs near the fire, talking. It seemed nothing to them that four teens, a few they didn't know well, were going to lock themselves up in their son's bedroom. Although it benefited Dean selfishly, he truly hated parents like that. They were no better than his own father, just ignoring what went on.

"Hey hey hey, joining the ranks, are we?" Garth got up off the bed, stupid grin on his face, and slapped Castiel hard on the bank.

"Nah," Dean interjected. "He ain't plannin on it." Their fingers were laced, thumb stroking wrist-bone.

"But you are," Garth's grin was so wide his eyes narrowed. Ruby giggled, too, and they all introduced themselves. Dean hadn't felt this happy in days, or weeks maybe? There was something so enthralling about the mixing of two worlds-- his lover and his friends, his real life. The best part of it was how spontaneous it was. Why didn't Dean think of joining these worlds sooner?

Maybe because he had made an agreement with three brothers and a vow to himself to protect this boy, and what they were about to do was completely cross the line.

Seconds later it seemed, Dean was offered a mirror with a gram-line. He hadn't blown since the day of the incident. However, he had no intention to take it slow, and didn't even realize there would have been merit in it. With a rolled up hundred dollar bill he blew it all, a bit of blood on the edge when he removed the straw. Shiftily he looked to Cas, who couldn't see anything.

"Shit," he uttered. "I keep forgettin you're blind, babe." It was such a strange thing to say. Garth laughed and Ruby started to ask a million questions, her high-pitched voice irritatingly clear. They all lit up cigarettes and Garth uncapped a bottle of vodka and began to pass it round. He looked over at Castiel, standing beside Dean (he hadn't sat down yet, too anxious for the coke high to hit), and said, "You wanna hit of any a this? All on us, buddy."

Meanwhile, the uppers hit him like a firecracker, and he let go of Castiel's hand.

Castiel snuggled into Dean beside him at the bus stop, immeasurably happy. He was glad that Dean wanted to include him in other aspects of his life. Part of him had been afraid that Dean would be ashamed of him and try to hide him away from his friends. Quite the opposite. Dean seemed to want to integrate him into all parts of his life, though Castiel was a little unsure of what this would mean. However, he was willing to try for Dean. Finally, the bus creaked to a stop in front of them and they retreated into its warmth. There wasn't much conversation on the bus, mostly just kissing which Castiel was completely in favor of. It sent a spark of electricity down his spine and he responded eagerly, probably too eager considering they were on a public bus. Too soon, he was being led off, hand in hand with Dean as they walked to Garth's house. He was quickly ushered into the other boy's bedroom and he heard the door close behind him, but he felt safe with his hand enclosed in Dean's. 

He recognized Garth's voice immediately, pitching forward slightly when he felt a hard slap against his back. Castiel wasn't exactly sure what he meant by "joining the ranks" but he trusted Dean's answer for him and shook his head in unison, Dean's thumb a comforting touch at his wrist. Everyone in the room introduced themselves, though it was just Garth and the girl, Ruby. He felt like he may have heard Ruby's voice before, but honestly many girls' voices sounded so similar, all high-pitched and squealing. Castiel never really paid much attention to them. Instead, he took in the sounds of the room, not recognizing many of them. Next to him, he heard Dean sniff up hard through his nose, though Castiel couldn't smell anything but smoke. That's when it hit him. They were doing drugs. It shocked Castiel down to his core that Dean actually did worse than smoke, he almost didn't hear the other boy's next words. He offered a small laugh in response, standing stock still as fresh smoke filled the room and he could hear a bottle being uncapped. 

"I'm not sure if..." Castiel began, suddenly stopping when he felt Dean's hand leave his own. For a moment, he was terrified, completely stranded in a strange place with strange people. Irrational as this fear was, considering Dean was still somewhere in the room, Castiel couldn't help but grow tense, arms out slightly. He wished his back was against something at the very least. He blinked, though he knew it would do no good, and suddenly wished for his glasses and cane, two comfort blankets that would make his sudden predicament that much better. Part of him was yelling that he should get out now, that this wasn't a place he should be in. Another stronger part insisted that Dean wanted him in all parts of his life and that he had to prove he could handle it. Castiel turned his face towards where Garth's voice had last come from, tilting his head slightly in thought. "Maybe just a small drink," he conceded, knowing for a fact that it was probably strong alcohol that would hit his small frame like a truck.

Ruby passed the bottle to Dean, who was busy coughing. "Drip," he said, referring to the chalky taste of cocaine mixed with saliva tickling the back of his throat, which had gone numb along with his nose. He took the 2 litre bottle gratefully, gulped down a third of it in a few seconds, and passed it to Castiel upon hearing his tentative words. There was something immediately amiss in all of this, but Dean would be the last person to notice. Of course his boy friend was the first to notice, the strange noises and the way Dean had left him standing alone while he moved around the room in a jittery way, opening the window and slapping Garth's face.

"I hope you got a little cash to pitch in, pretty boy." Ruby was still sitting on the bed, in plain blue jeans and a black sweatshirt. Her eyes were lined with silver and her smile was very attractive. Dean smiled back and nodded emphatically, yanking two twenties out of his wallet and handing them over. Then he second guessed his decision. "You got a brick? I want half. And this is extra for the liquor." 

"Oh, my. Are you asking for trouble?" 

Dean coughed again, this feeling intense after only a few days off it. His skull nearly separated with the light peeking out, his chest opened up and the cigarette felt as thin as his body. The cold air coming in through the window smelt like fire smoke. It mixed with their cigarettes and caused Dean to giggle like a girl. He hoisted up his pants, which were slipping down to show his boxers, and shrugged his coat off onto the floor. "Here," he said as he took Castiel's coat off. He didn't look comfortable, but then again, when did a blind person every truly look comfortable? Castiel wore the same stark expression he had the day they met, and just as lonely too.

That was odd. After hanging his coat on the door, he stepped into Castiel's personal space. There were some hushed words that only he could hear. Something about you're with me, baby, I dunno why you look so lonely. They kissed and Dean led him to the chair at Garth's piss-poor excuse for a desk. Ruby passed him the bottle again, and the two exchanged a flirtatious glance. The drink he took was longer this time, and he could already feel the warmth spreading through him like an illness. 

"Here," he sat down at the floor between Castiel's legs and passed him up the bottle. With one arm wound around his boyfriend's leg, he smoked the last of his cigarette and snuffed it out on the bottom of his neon boot. Then he begged Garth to put on some music. 

Castiel took a small sip when he was handed the bottle the first time. The strong liquid burned going down, making his eyes water as he coughed slightly, holding the bottle out for someone else to take. Once it was gone from his hands, he wiped his mouth, slightly regretting his decision. The alcohol didn't have a pleasant taste at all, and it was worse on his sensitive taste buds. The room seemed to be thrumming with energy, the other three people around him having done much more than a small sip of vodka, Dean especially. He seemed to be bouncing off the walls, and Castiel would be lying if he said he wasn't a little scared. He heard money being exchanged, along with Dean purchasing what must've been more drugs. Castiel bit his lip and looked down slightly, worried. This was not a good place for him to be and he knew it. 

Suddenly, Dean was in his space again, face close as he murmured in Castiel's ear. He gave generic answers in response I'm fine and I don't feel lonely hoping to put the other boy's mind at ease. He kissed Dean back softly, though not as eagerly as on the bus, tasting the alcohol and smoke on his breath. Castiel felt a little better when he was lead to a chair, feeling more secure in his location. Dean sat at his feet, wound around one of his legs as he smoked. Castiel felt the bottle being pushed into his hands once more. This was a bad idea. Every fiber in his being told Castiel that this was a horrible idea, but apparently Castiel wasn't very good at listening. He took a larger sip this time, the burn no worse than before as his eyes watered again. He took another gulp before setting the bottle down next to Dean, coughing to try and clear out the taste. He let his hands drift down, needing an anchor as he ran them through Dean's hair. "Do you do this often?" he asked, his voice soft as it always is. As much as Castiel wanted to prove himself to Dean, he wasn't sure how often he could do things like this.

Dean loved that Castiel was playing with his hair. The geeked out part of him loved that he was introducing his boyfriend to drugs and alcohol; the sober part of him (which didn't really exist) screamed back in dismay that this was a complete betrayal of trust.But what was better? Fun or safety? The boy had insisted time and again that he wanted to be with Dean, no matter the danger or risk. Perhaps it was about time Dean begin to prove that warning should have been well taken.

There was the pressure of fingers against his temple wound and he winced slightly, but didn't gasp or cry out. He leaned against Castiel's bony knee. His calf was so thin, his shoes so regular, his appearance so general. Everything about him was paradoxically simple and stunning. Before Dean could even answer his question, Garth began to laugh. "What's often, Castiel? Like, once a week or four times a day? And what're you referring to, exactly, when you say this?" 

Ruby leaned toward Dean from up on the bed and whispered, "You two are dating?" Dean beamed proudly in response, suddenly feeling as clean and graceful as he looked. No makeup, clothing half borrowed from Benny, hair being mussed up and blood filled with chemicals. This was exactly how life was meant to be. "Damn, that's insane. Pretty boys like you are supposed to be with girls..." It was an offhanded remark, more wishful than anything else. She let it go at that. 

This continued for a while until Dean was completely feverish with energy. He remained seated as long as possible, but rather than slow him down the drink aided the cocaine in whatever it did to his energy levels. He was talking voraciously and asking questions, tapping his fingers to the music on Castiel's leg and singing a bit. That's when he remembered he had left his guitar at his house. He told the three all about it and how badly he wished he could play right now. That's when he checked his phone and saw that Sammy had texted him back. 

I miss you, too. But Dad says if you come anywhere near the house he'll do something bad. He threw out all your stuff so I wouldn't try anything...

There was nothing to prepare him for that, and he immediately stood up and beckoned, "We gotta go."

Castiel wasn't really feeling anything from the drink besides a bad taste in his mouth. He figured he'd been cautious enough and that the relatively small amount that he'd drunk wouldn't really affect him after all. It would probably make him barely tipsy at most. He turned his face in the direction of Garth's voice, a little taken aback by his response. "I suppose I'm referring to the... activities," he said slowly, unsure of what else to call them, a light blush on his cheeks when he realized how naive he must sound. Dean's weight on his leg was a steady anchor, keeping Castiel grounded, keeping his nerves calm. 

He heard Ruby's voice, as hushed as it was, and felt slightly possessive at her words, wrapping his legs a little closer around Dean's body. He had known, of course, that Dean was attractive and that nearly everyone thought so. That was clear enough from the girls in the halls at school, despite the reputation Dean had gained as well. It made Castiel nervous. He, obviously, didn't care what Dean looked like, but what if he wasn't good enough for Dean? What if Castiel's looks weren't in the same league. There was absolutely no way for Castiel to know and the thought that Dean may be swayed by someone better-looking terrified him.

Dean standing came as a surprise, Castiel's leg suddenly cold. He stood as quickly as he could, stumbling slightly as he searched for Dean's hand, gripping it tightly when he found it. "What happened?" he asked, picking up a strange tone in Dean's voice, "Where are we going?" He was a little afraid that he'd done something wrong, though he couldn't think of what. Maybe Dean had reconsidered and wanted Castiel away from his friends? Then again, it was also entirely possible that it had nothing to do with Castiel at all.

It made Dean insane to think that his father had gotten rid of his things. However, it made him completely and utterly unstable to think that Dad had threatened Sammy in any way at all. They bid goodbye to Garth and Ruby, while Dean shoved the baggies of things into his inner coat pockets. Then he took Castiel by the hand and led him downstairs. 

"I'm gonna fuckin kill him," he was muttering, as soon as the front door shut behind them. The bus stop was a few streets over, and by the time they got to it Dean was feeling as inebriated as he sounded. His voice was a fast trail of incoherent mumblings, with some louder words intended for Castiel, a cigarette between his teeth all the while. His eyes were glazed over, glassy, and his heart palpitations were frighteningly unsafe. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was some time around six, they were in the back of the bus. Benny called him to check in. Without any hesitation, Dean spilled every detail to his bear, teeth gritted with rage. Benny's drawl on the other end of the line was both disappointed and protective. "You ain't goin over to that house, 'specially not if yer fucked outta yer mind n you got a blind boyfriend in tow. It ain't fair to bring him into this, n you know that. Let's be reasonable. Turn around and bring Castiel and yerself back to my place. Now."

He began to shout. People on the bus were looking at him, his hand steadfast in the boy's. "I'm not fuckin turnin around, there's no way I'm lettin him get away with this shit!"

A loud sigh and then, "I'll see you soon."

Castiel allowed himself to be dragged down the street and back to the bus stop, getting more and more terrified as he went. It was clear that Dean wasn't okay. Not only did he sound drunk, but he was acting strange as well, obviously because of whatever drugs he did. Castiel was conflicted. On one hand, he was scared and he wanted to go somewhere safe, somewhere he knew. On the other hand, if he called any of his brothers, Dean would get in trouble and Castiel probably wouldn't be able to see him again. 

They got on the bus and someone called Dean, Benny by the sound of it, and the older boy proceeded to tell him everything and now Castiel fully understood what was going on. Now there was no maybe about it. He didn't want to go to Dean's house. Not while whatever was going was happening. However, now that he was on the bus, he had absolutely no idea where he was even if he did call someone. Dean was quite literally his only way to get anywhere, and he was currently severely impaired. Not to mention he seemed hellbent on bringing Castiel into his home drama. 

"Dean," Castiel began quietly, he didn't want to anger the other boy. He was volatile as it was. "I think we should probably go to Benny's." He let this sink in for a moment before continuing. "Seeing your little brother like this probably isn't a good idea. You should wait and go back when you're a little calmer. That way you could handle the situation better for the both of you." He wanted desperately to reason with Dean, without bringing in the fact that he was afraid. "Please, Dean," he said, his voice hardly above a whisper, "I don't want to see anyone get hurt. Let's just go to Benny's."

Slipping the phone back into his pocket and taking a shaky breath, he said, "No. Cas, you can go back to Benny's, but I'm gonna handle this. Now." There was darkness in his voice, and he became quiet for the remainder of the bus ride, without any open acknowledgement that Castiel could not, in fact, get back to Benny's.

They got off the bus three streets down from the tiny Winchester house. That part of town wasn't the best; dogs were barking from random yards, the smell of marijuana traveled from a few houses over, cars drove by blaring hardcore music. Dean lit up a cigarette and led Castiel towards the house. It was pitch black on this street, the only lights the small porch lamps outside various homes. Again he completely ignored his boyfriend's urging, pressing on with his own foolish motives.

The house was well lit, and he could see John and Sammy arguing through the window. "That motherfucker," Dean began to swear again, not so under his breath. He let go of Castiel's hand and ran towards the house. At that exact moment, Benny's truck pulled up. But the green-eyed monster had already kicked open the door, ran in screaming. 

Benny sprinted from the car, watched Dean enter the house knowing it was too late. A scared looking boy was standing there on the lawn. That could only be Castiel. Benny approached him vocally first, then took his arm gently. The urgency in his voice was immediate, he himself a bit frightened of what they had all been dragged into. "My name is Benny, I'm gon' put you in my truck and lock you in. Yer not to open the door for anyone, 'n if ye hear gunshots, get down. Do you understand?" There was alcohol on his breath and Benny looked into his eyes for some sort information, remembered in a stunted way that Castiel's eyes meant nothing. 

Castiel had nothing left to say when Dean refused, and was forced instead to ride the bus in silence until he was once again tugged off. He could hear dogs barking and loud music and he could smell smoke. He held Dean's hand tightly as they walked down the street, the air around the other boy tense and angry. The last time he'd felt this lost and useless had been the train station, which was not at all a memory he wanted to have any connection to Dean at all. Suddenly, the other boy ripped his hand away and Castiel was left stranded he had no idea where.

"D-Dean!" he called after the boy, fear clear in his voice as it shook. He whipped his head around, looking despite the fact that he couldn't see. Moments later, he heard a big, warm voice speaking behind him, introducing himself as Benny. He felt himself being lead away. "What about Dean?" he asked, his voice slightly frantic and still very afraid, "What's happening? What do you mean gunshots?" He was ushered into the back of a truck and he heard the door close behind him, the locks clicking. Castiel drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, shaking slightly. What on earth had he gotten himself into?

"By gunshots I damn well mean gunshots, little one. Just don't git outta the car, cause whatever he got a mind to do in here, it ain't gon be pretty."

He shut the door, checked to see that it was locked, and spun around to pelt across the yard and through the front door. He entered upon a grisly scene. Sam was sobbing hysterically, begging Dean not to get their dad upset. Their father, a man Benny had never met, was holding a shotgun and pointing it at his friend. They were screaming so loudly that Benny could hardly understand a word, especially with the high pitched sobbing of Sam, who was holding Dean back with two palms pressed to his bony chest. Dean looked a mess, with his boots and haircut, the borrowed shirt down to his knees. He was clearly annihilated from whatever he had done today-- the fact that he had involved Castiel in this truly angered him. Though a sober angry Benny couldn't come close to a chemically unstable, rage-filled Dean. 

Before he could even assess the situation and step in, Dean broke from Sam's hold and ran at his father, brandishing a knife he had procured from someplace. Sam was small and quick though, and in a matter of seconds three gunshots went off, and the boy was on the floor with his chest blown open. That stopped both men quick enough; Dean sank to his knees and cradled the body, screams turned to broken howls now. John looked stunned, as if in shock that he could miss a shot so critical.

Looking down at Dean, he let the shotgun fall to the floor. Too afraid to move for fear of making it worse, Benny stayed completely still as the father's resounding voice boomed over the son's wails. "You've ruined this family. Don't you see it? You've killed us. Corrupted us... You killed your mother when you were six years old. Now this..."

Screaming in desperation, inconsolable despair, "I didn't do it, Dad! I was just a kid! This was you! This was you!"

"No... You killed this family, Dean. The only one left to die is you." He reached into the waistband of his pants and pulled out a pistol, shot himself in the head. 

Dean began to visibly shake, covered in his brother's blood. Benny whipped out his phone at that point, called 911 and explained to them briefly what had happened. It was a fast flurry of words, but during that time Dean had managed to slit one wrist open. Benny hung up, shoved his phone into his pocket. He knelt at his friend's side and grabbed his wet face with both hands. "Yer not fuckin doin this, Dean. Not to me, n not to that pretty boy who loves you! I don't care what he said to ye, yer not doin this to Castiel!" He needed to use whatever he could to get through. Taking the knife from his trembling hand, he said, "You coulda gotten him killed, too, leavin him stranded on the lawn like what was he supposed to do? Follow you in? Run? In this town? Yer a fuckin idiot, Dean, but you don't deserve to die."

When he scooped Dean up, the kid responded by wrapping both arms tight around his neck and sobbing into his shoulder. The best thing would be to bring him away from the scene. They could wait in the truck until help came. As they walked across the yard Dean started screaming again, but Benny ignored every request. He popped open the driver's side door and shoved Dean's limp frame onto the seat between he and Castiel. 

"Castiel, just hold him, okay?" Benny said as he climbed in after, locking them all in. The car was warmer than the frigid air outside, and he noticed snow began to fall as Dean laid across their laps, kneading Castiel's shirt like a kitten. He was violently shaking and clearly never coming back.

Castiel sat in the car, clenching and unclenching his fists, his lower lip being bitten raw. He had no idea what was happening and he was really worried, especially because of what Benny said. Without warning, three loud shots rang out and Castiel whipped his head towards them before remembering the command to get down. He ducked his head, waiting a few moments before hearing one last shot go, much quieter than the first three. Another few seconds later and Castiel sat up slowly. The door was ripped open on the otherside of the car and Castiel felt a heavier weight settle in his lap, the metallic smell of blood in the air, Benny's voice strong and commanding. Castiel wrapped his arms around what had to be Dean in his lap, ignoring the feeling of blood soaking into his clothes and covering his hands as he cradled the other boy, running his hands through his hair. He was too afraid to ask what happened, knowing he wouldn't like the answer and knowing that this wasn't the time. He simply stayed quiet as he heard sirens approach the house.

The ambulance took way too long in arriving. Benny had enough time to explain to Castiel everything, with some difficulty. Dean's incoherent scream-sobbing was loud in the small truck cab. Beside that, he was hyperventilating so badly that Benny feared he might vomit or pass out. The twenty-year old was in was over his head with this, but he reacted to instinct and cracked a window so Dean could at least have some cold fresh oxygen.

At the end of the explanation, Benny had to add the truth. "We've gotta get him into the ambulance less cause he slit his wrist open but more cause he covered in his brother's life's blood n wants to finish himself off. It ain't gon be pretty, n I don't even know if he's consciously with us right now..." That's when he had to say it, really say it. "I met him when he n I were both in dark periods of our life... Castiel, I wouldn't lie to ye. I've been waitin for this snap to happen a lil while now. n I'm sorry you had to be here for it, I truly am... But... it was you that got me to at least put him in a state where he would let me take the knife from him..." Benny went on to divulge what he had said to Dean, every word that had transpired between all members of that bloody affair. The bear was too jarred to cry, remembering a few things from the past that quieted him. He would have liked a smoke, but not with Castiel in the car. Instead he thanked him and rubbed Dean's back in a motherly way. 

Castiel was in shock. Too shocked to cry, almost too shocked to move. Suddenly, he leapt into action. The sirens were still blaring outside. Castiel fumbled with the door until he found the lock and pulled it up, swinging the door open moments later. "We need help over here," he yelled as loud as he could, much louder than his voice has ever gone in his life, "You need to take him to the hospital now." Dean was still in his lap and Castiel heard a few people running across the grass to them. "I'm riding with him in the back and if you even try to separate us, I will sue you all. Benny's coming too." They were all ushered out of the car, Castiel ordering to be helped onto the gurney with Dean, never once letting go of the other's hand. Inside, he could feel himself crumbling, but he refused to crack. Not in front of Dean. Not while Dean needed him. It was a complete 360 from how he'd felt earlier, terrified and unsure. But now Dean was in more danger than Castiel could have thought possible. Now was the time to act.

While his body was being moved from the car he thrashed considerably, thinking they were going to separate him from Castiel. When all was said and done, his boyfriend was sitting behind him, cradling Dean's head in his lap. He couldn't breathe or stop crying, and from what he understood a decent amount of the blood on him was not his own. There was a clatter of sounds and Benny's icy eyes, as well as so many unfamiliar ones. When he dared to look up above him he saw Castiel, young face set in a grim manner. But behind his grim appearance was a terrified glint in his eyes. It only made Dean sob harder, and at one point he leaned over to vomit. Around the time they shot him up with a sedative, he didn't even know what he was crying about any more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The week passed in a blur, Dean's wrist sewed up nicely and covered with long sleeves. All of his scars were covered, even the internal ones. When he had woken up in the hospital, Castiel had been with him, of course. Benny had, too, but it meant little. There was nothing he could do to change what he had done. /This tragedy is all my fault/ was the only phrase that rang through his head, day after day, each time he was asked questions or offered a meal. Not able to use drugs or cut himself, he relied on very passive means of escapism. He complained of the nightmares he had been having and was given sleeping medication; he ate only as much as he was required to. The one thing he was thankful for was Castiel's blindness-- he didn't want his boyfriend to see how he looked, how little he fed himself. Though  
Benny and Castiel spoke frequently when he slept, at least those first few nights. After that Benny had to go home, and Bobby came and spoke to Castiel. Their mutterings were comforting while Dean slept his life away, wishing with little patience that his life could be taken next.

The memorial services were planned by Bobby, who stood beside Dean gravely the entire time. There was nothing pretty about it, and at very opportunity Dean hid outside in the parking lot smoking cigarettes like a burning barrel. His few friends showed up for that, too, though he didn't understand why. Wasn't it clear to them that he was a tool of corruption, staining the planet one person at a time? Three dead bodies because of him, and the look on Castiel's face. If only he had enough gall to break up with him now. The main thing keeping him in the relationship was the thought that if he ended it (and subsequently ended his life) he would break Castiel. He didn't want any more blood on his hands, unless it was his own.

The suit looked too large on him, too out of place with his hair and metal. Bobby had even gone so far as to buy him a plain black pair of shoes for the occasion. They weren't comfortable, but they were enough. His things were all at the old man's house now, right behind the auto shop. It was the appropriate legal action, apparently. The cops had questioned him, Castiel and Benny in turn, and had discussed the tentative will John had left with Bobby. The man had planned on leaving everything to Mary, and had never changed it. The one saving grace was that Bobby had been included in the will, even back then, and ended up acting as both beneficiary and guardian. At least he would house Dean until the boy hit age twenty-one.

It was a Saturday night. He had worked all day in the shop to forget, only surfacing for cigarette breaks. Food was not something he needed, and though it might have still been too risky for him to go to Garth's, he didn't think he could resist much longer. He and the other seventeen year old had been texting back and forth all day, weighing out the dangers and benefits of his being sober for nearly three weeks (aside from the sleeping pills, which he didn't count) and jumping back in. Garth warned him about what had happened the last time he tried that...

Being in Bobby's house wasn't bad; the man had been a presence in his life for years, and he had spent many nights in the quilted guest bed. The only difference now was his age and what a complete mess his life was. Normally he would have Sammy to share the room with. Now the reality hit him that he could never talk to his brother again, in any way shape or form. It made his skin itch with the want to be sliced open, and he found himself ripping at the scabs left on his wrist from that night. If only he had never answered Benny's call...

It was ten at night when he called Castiel from out on the back porch, howling. This was a frequent thing, more attributed to the psychological withdraw from drugs than the processing of family trauma. Regardless, the reality was that he spoke to Castiel every day. Most days he sounded completely numb, but often at night he lost his composure. His boyfriend had been there that night with him, had loved him throughout. There was no reason to turn his back on him now, even if being vulnerable like this was uncomfortable.

It was always the same thing, each time he called hyperventilating. He would sob, "I'm s-s-sorry I'm p-putt-tin this on you, b-but I c-can't-- I c-can't... I d-don't know w-what-to-d-do, whaddo I d-do?"

It was difficult, the weeks after the incident. Castiel had refused to leave Dean's side at first, always there when he woke up and when he went to sleep again. He stayed in constant contact, holding his hand or stroking his arm, playing with his hair. He and Benny spoke frequently when Dean was asleep, the older man telling the blind boy a lot about Dean's home life and what it had been like and exactly what had happened that night. Castiel appreciated it, but he wasn't sure how to handle it at the same time. Dean was more broken than Castiel could have ever imagined. Bobby came by as well, the old man's gruff voice solid and comforting. He spoke to the two boys about the legal things. When Dean was finally permitted to leave the hospital, he went to Bobby's house, and Castiel went to his own.

Castiel hadn't told his brothers, but they'd found out somehow anyway. Michael had been livid that Dean had taken such a risk with him. Raphael and Gabriel took similar stances. Castiel fought them tooth and nail. Dean needed him. No matter what bad judgements he may have made in the past, the older boy needed him now more than anything. Castiel refused to abandon him. He couldn't. As much as it scared him, he loved Dean. Fiercely. More intensely than anything, and he wouldn't give it up without a fight. His brother's being so belligerent made it difficult to see Dean, but Castiel figured that maybe the other boy needed space. That was until the first phone call. Dean had been hysterical, but Castiel had remained calm, speaking to him in even tones. No matter what Dean thought of himself, Castiel saw the good in his soul and knew that it was just waiting for the chance to spring to the surface. Tonight was no different.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Dean," Castiel reassured the other boy, "Everything is going to be alright." Most of what he said was honestly just sweet nothings, calm generalities that had no definite truth to them. Castiel just hoped that it would turn out okay. For Dean. "It's going to be so hard," Castiel said softly, not wanting to lie on purpose, "You're going to feel like you can't make it, but I know you can. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for." These were the same things he said every night that Dean called him, and the other boy had never said anything back, only listened. Castiel hoped it was what he needed to hear. "You can't blame yourself for things that are out of your control," he went on calmly, crumbling inside for being so useless, "You didn't pull any triggers. Nothing that happened, as terrible as it was, was your fault. You're going to want to escape, but you can't. I'm sorry, Dean, but you can't. For Benny, for Bobby, for me." Castiel didn't dare bring up Sam. He didn't ever even hint towards the subject of Dean's younger brother. "If you're going through hell, keep going. You'll come out on the other side soon enough."

Castiel knew that none of this probably mattered to Dean. He honestly believed that all this went in one ear and out the other. Even so, if just listening could help Dean, then Castiel would talk until his throat bled. Dean had helped him in a dark time, and Castiel would do the same for him. He just wished he could see the other boy, feel him, make sure he was alright. He wanted everything to go back to how it was before, for Dean's sake. "I'm going to try and see you soon," Castiel promised, just like he did every night, but they both knew it was empty. There was no way for Castiel to get to Dean. Not without one of his brother's taking him, and they'd made sure that that would never happen. Castiel had no money to pay for a car service, he had no way to enlist help from friends, he had nothing but his phone that he'd hidden away to make sure he would have some kind of connection to Dean. 

Small town gossip had traveled relatively fast. Chuck had come by the house, giving Castiel the assignments he'd missed. The school had allowed him a temporary leave because of his "traumatic experience". He'd taken it gratefully. He wasn't ready to go back to school. He didn't want to hear those vapid people in the hallway, discussing things that they had no business knowing. They talked about Dean like they had a right, and he hated hearing his name in their judgmental mouths. He would have to go back soon, however. The school was only so forgiving. Chuck had promised to smack anyone who even looked like they might say something stupid, and the sentiment had made Castiel smile. The real reason he didn't want to go was that he was afraid of being unavailable. He always wanted to be able to be there for Dean, and school would hinder that. "I'm sorry I can't be with you now," Castiel said, his voice thick with emotion. 

The reality stood. Dean was barely sleeping; hadn't slept more than three or four hours a night since his father's murder-suicide, and what hours he got were broken and interrupted. It had occurred to him that sleeping with Castiel would change that, would make everything better. At first, when they had first become friends, it had worked. They used to talk on the phone until Dean would fall asleep. But then that wasn't enough, and he had to add drugs into the mix to fall asleep. Always the drugs, because they never failed him. Not like people did. Yet something pushed Dean to believe that if he could be physically close to his boyfriend, he would sleep.

What did it even mean for them, to be boyfriends? They hadn't kissed in ages, hadn't gone further than kissing and a little groping. There was no need for Cas to tell him how his brothers felt about the whole situation. It was a wonder they let him answer Dean's calls. Then again, maybe the boy was hiding them well. He had a savvy ability to hide things. Even now, though his voice sounded incredibly calm and monotonous, Dean questioned what type of insane emotional damage he was suppressing.

"I get it," he said somewhat randomly. They'd been on the phone for maybe a half hour at that point, and Dean had recovered himself and his breath. His voice was hoarse, though. "I get that we can't see each other. Your brothers prob'ly want my head, 'n it makes sense to me. It sucks. I think the only way I'm gonna be able to get any sleep is to be with you, as... I dunno, as stupid as that might sound. Listen, Bobby's got a car he'll let me drive around. We talked about it today... I can come over whenever you want, Cas. I mean, or pick you up 'n bring you here." He paused for a moment to laugh bitterly. Then half-whispered, "Jesus, listen to me. I'm so desperate to just be fixed 'n I'm tryin to make you my fixer... You're not responsible for me, Cas. I'll figure out a way to get back to sleep..."

"No Dean," Castiel insisted suddenly, "If it will help you, then I want to do it. It's scientifically proven that physical comfort can help immensely in times of emotional distress and if that's what you need, then I want to be there for you." He was ready to go above and beyond for Dean, because he believed that the other boy was worth it. Not to mention, Castiel believed it would help him as well. He had been in this weird state of detachment since the accident. He refused to let himself feel anything about it because Dean needed him to be calm and strong. So he was. Deep inside, he as crumbling with the need to tell someone, to scream, to cry. Being with Dean, being right next to him, Castiel believed it would be the best thing for the both of them. 

"Please, Dean," Castiel murmured, "I need to see you." It was the first time since the accident that he had asked anything of Dean. Castiel was careful to keep his own needs locked away where they wouldn't bother anyone else. Now though, with this chance to see Dean right in front of him, he wasn't going to let it pass him by. He could get out to the sidewalk easily. Michael was away on business, so the threat of consequences was greatly diminished. Besides, Castiel knew that if he asked, Chuck would cover for him, and he would gladly repay the favor another day. 

Castiel's worst fear, however, was the drugs. Despite them being the cause of all this, he couldn't stop worrying that Dean would turn back to them as a form of escape. If Castiel being there got him to sleep and prevented him from using anything dangerous, then there would be no way to stop him from getting over there. Yes, he was a little nervous. He and Dean had never gotten very far into their physical relationship. A few kisses and teasing touches. This was a whole other level. Even if it never went past holding each other as they slept, it was still a big step for Castiel. For Dean, he hoped he would be ready to take it. 

"Alright. I'll call you when I'm close."

It was late, but Dean didn't want to completely disregard Bobby's rules. To be honest, he had no idea if Bobby even had rules or not, because he had never stayed long enough with the older man to find out. The guy was single-- his wife had passed away when Dean was too young to remember-- and had borne no children. Being in his house was comfortable in many ways, but also mushy and sloppy. Just like in the Winchester household, the boundaries were unclear and that left room for too much play.

He knocked lightly on Bobby's door and a gruff voice called back. Dean was not an awkward person, always able to rely on his charisma to charm and coerce people. Tonight he was awkward. Well, truly, ever since the whole fucking out of control situation he was at fault for, he had been feeling out of place. The only situations he was comfortable with were ones he knew; talking to Garth, Benny or Castiel, and working at the shop were about the last few things that gave him solace now. 

In the end the man told him where the keys were, trusted he would be back within a twenty-minute time frame, and let him leave. It was the end of February, the air still cold enough to make him shake. He smoked cigarette after cigarette throughout the entire ride over, dutifully calling Castiel when he was pulling down the street. As silently as possible he helped his muse into the passenger seat of the old Impala, quietly thanking God for his boyfriend's blindness. The clothes that Dean was wearing were all the smallest size possible, and still too large. His neon yellow boots were muddied and scuffed up, his hair was a mess of bangs over his face, and his eyes were totally red-rimmed from crying. The color of his face was blotchy, and his freckles had disappeared. He held Castiel's hand, fingers laced through his, and didn't smoke the whole ride back.

Upstairs in the cluttered, tiny guest room (he had been instructed to take whatever belongings he had from his now government owned childhood home), he guided Castiel to the bed. The sheets, blankets and pillows were all his own, and reeked of cigarette smoke and body odor. He hoped his boyfriend wouldn't mind. Regardless of how twisted he was, or how blurred the last month had been, he was sober-- or at least dry-- enough to realize this was their first night together. It brought up certain insecurities he hadn't acknowledged yet.

In order to cover for his own feelings of inadequacy and ugliness, he slipped off his pants and picked up his guitar. "Can I play for you?" The guest bedroom was down the hall from Bobby's room, and if he played lightly it wouldn't bother the guy. Dean sat down on the edge of the bed, bare legs warm against the comforter. Without waiting for Castiel's permission he began to play a soft tune he had learned from Benny a year ago, Angeles. 

Castiel listened to Dean play his guitar, his husky voice washing over him as he closed his eyes. He knew that there was a long road ahead of them. He knew that there were going to be bumps and cracks. At the same time, he knew that everything was going to be okay. It would take a long time and a lot of work, but Castiel could feel it deep inside himself, even now as he drifted off to sleep, one thought circled around in his mind: We’ll be okay, as long as I see you.

**Author's Note:**

> I had first thought about putting this into chapters, but then I decided to just let you guys have it. Now, I read it through as I was organizing it into a Word document, but honestly I didn't read through it before posting because I was lazy. If there are too many typos to handle, just tell me and I'll whip my lazy ass into gear and fix them up. I hope you liked it because this was actually pretty difficult, though I would love to write something of this length with someone again!


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